


The Roommate's Pact

by lucifers_left_earlobe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-20
Updated: 2013-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-27 02:47:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/973402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucifers_left_earlobe/pseuds/lucifers_left_earlobe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester is the first Winchester to attend college. Sam Winchester, his fourteen-year-old brother, idolizes him and his intelligence while his father has contrasting views of Dean himself. Dean is heading for his physics lectures when he bumps into an angry man, Castiel Novak. The two hit it off and, soon enough, agree to become roommates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Unlikely Companionship

Dean Winchester has never really given much thought to how he would die. Yeah, he has considered the fact that he’s likely to die before he’s old enough to rent a car, but it’s never crossed his mind of _how_ he will actually die. He’s always favored going out fighting, but given the fact that he’s still in university, and a cushy one at that, it’s unlikely that he will even be near enough a fight that would kill him.

All of those things being said, Dean is bored. Has been bored for quite a while. His classes aren’t hard enough for him, the engineering courses at Stanford seem to have been created specifically for idiots who have no idea what an engine even is. His grades are pretty good, exemplary in fact: he’s second in his class. His social life is fine; he parties, he has a girlfriend (sort of), and he has friends. Life should be damn peachy. It isn’t. Every time Dean leaves his dorm, he’s absolutely crushed by how manicured everything is. And again today, Dean dedicates his walk to the Hoover building by thinking about his demise.

Just as he’s about to ram his dad’s Impala into a brick wall, he bumps into an athletic man. He’s about to punch him in the face when the stranger turns and glares at him with the bluest eyes he had ever seen in his life. He stands like that, staring as the handsome man waves an arm and moves his mouth to emphasize his displeasure at Dean. It takes being poked in the chest by a skinny finger to be lifted from his daze.

“What the hell? Stop staring at me, moron!” The man is yelling at him. He should probably respond by apologizing because the stranger looks older but all he can do is shrug and give him his most sarcastic smirk.

“Who says I want to, babe?” He wiggles his eyebrows and blows the flustered man a kiss. The man turns beet red with pure fury and pulls his fist back as if to punch him. Damn this guy has anger issues; if he’s this frustrated by being accidentally bumped into by a stranger. He steps back because he doesn’t want to fight today, he just wants to go educate the guy he’s paying to educate him and calmly go about his life. He’s surprised when the man puts his fist back down and seethes silently, pinching the bridge of his nose as he does so.

“What class are you going to?” the stranger growls, demanding an answer. Dean takes another step back, not wanting to challenge the man by his answer. He replies, “Mechanical engineering with Adler.”

The man’s shoulders visibly slump, indicating that he probably has the same class at the same time with him. He clenches his hands into taught angular fists and glares at Dean so hard; Dean briefly worries that his eyes may fall out.

“Hey man, it’s cool. Don’t freak, we don’t have to sit near each other if you don’t want to,” Dean attempts to reassure him. He reaches out a hand to cuff the man on the shoulder but drops it when that glare refocuses onto him. He clears his throat and instead holds his hand out in front of him, an offering. “I’m Dean, by the way. If we’re going to be in the same class, we ought to know each other.”

The man stares at him, and continues staring as half of the class files into the building. They just stand there as this man ways the advantages of introducing himself to Dean and if he doesn’t hurry up, they’re both going to be late. Finally, after what can be considered a substantial amount of time, the man grips Dean’s hand in a feather light touch and meets his eyes, no glare in those big blues.

“I’m Castiel. I would say it’s nice to meet you, but lying is for assbutts.” He looks like he’s trying for a grin, but quickly drops it and forces his face into an angry poker face. Castiel shrugs minutely, grimacing at the sidewalk, and walks to the door. He yanks it open and ducks inside, but not without holding it open for Dean to grab.

“Thanks, man.” Dean takes the handle and follows the handsome guy into the building, not at all checking out his ass as he does so. They walk into the lecture hall in absolute silence; Dean letting his eyes flit to Castiel every few seconds, Castiel looking like he could use about nine cups of coffee. Dean takes a seat by the wall, completely and unabashedly surprised when Castiel plops his messenger bag into the chair in front of his.

“I thought we weren’t going to sit together,” Dean muses, rubbing a hand against his neck. The man looks down at his shoes and sighs, though the pinkish hue his cheeks have taken is obvious to Dean. “But it’s fine. If you want to sit here go for it.” He stretches and takes his seat, trying to look indifferent as Castiel does the same.

About twenty minutes into the lecture, Dean stops listening and instead focuses on his demise for probably the ninth time in the day, and it’s not even eleven. This time, he imagines himself being possessed and dragged into frigid waters, only to be left behind a rotting corpse that was last inhabited by a demon or ghost. This death doesn’t appeal to him as much as the others; he doesn’t like the lack of control in it. But maybe it’s something deeper. He doesn’t feel like he doesn’t want to live today, he’s simply indifferent. That’s pretty weird.

Dean glances over at the man who decided he’d follow him around for the duration of their shared first hour. Cas’s resting his chin in his palm and staring at the clock positioned above the whiteboard with the same intensity one would look at their favorite book. Dean watches him for a moment before he leans over and pokes the man on his arm.

“Hey, want to get out of here?” He asks, hoping Castiel will say yes. At least leaving the lecture with a companion appears to be less dismissive than striding out alone. When Castiel nods in affirmation, Dean waits until Dr. Whatever-the-hell-it-is finishes her statement on how basic hydraulics work to stand and walk out the back door, Castiel in tow.

They head back to the dorms to drop off their things and settle in for what they plan to do. Neither of them have homework, so they talk. Dean finds out that Castiel _isn’t_ older than Dean; he’s just a lot smarter, what with him being nineteen and a junior. Castiel is majoring in biomechanics, which explains why he was in Dean’s class, and doesn’t give a shit about homework and chooses to spend the majority of his time watching the BBC and playing with his cats. They shouldn’t get along, not really, because they’re complete opposites. But they do, they hit it off like Bert and Ernie.

* * *

* * *

A semester has passed and Cas and Dean have switched rooming assignments so they are now together. They are almost famous around campus as being the inseparable duo; they share classes now that Dean’s been allowed to move up to junior level classes. They spend all of their time together. When they are dating, they double date. It’s easily the best friendship Dean has ever had.

One morning, Dean wakes up and heads to their little kitchen, unsurprised to find that Cas has fried a stack of pancakes. Smiling to himself, he walks to the table and flops onto the wooden chair, grabbing his utensils as he does so. Cas glances over his shoulder with a tiny grin.

“Good morning, Dean. Did you sleep well?” Cas asks, polite as usual. As Dean got closer to Cas, he noticed the man’s little quirks. For example, when he asks questions, he tilts his head slightly to the right if it’s logical, to the left if it’s more personal. Today, Cas is using his polite tone, indicating that he wants to do something later.

“I did. Did you?” he asks in return. He stabs one of the pretty pancakes right in the middle and stuffs it in its entirety into his mouth. Cas looks at him like he’s behaving like an animal and Dean is guilted into using table manners. After a moment of intense staring on Cas’s part, he turns back to the stove where he is frying some bacon for the two of them.

“I did thanks. Do you have afternoon classes today? If you don’t we should do something,” Cas mumbles beneath the sizzle of frying food. He doesn’t have any classes that he can’t make up, just Macro Economics, and he can easily get away with ditching for a day. Dean swallows his food and answers, “No.”

Castiel shuts off the stove and brings the pan over to Dean’s plate. Carefully as always, he places three strips onto the plate and moves to put the remainder on his own. Then, he takes his eat and props his head in a hand. “Would you like to go to the beach?” Cas asks a moment later.

That’s a funny suggestion; in all their time together, Dean likes to think he knows the man pretty well. If he’s not mistaken, which he may be, Cas loathes the beach and most outdoor activities. Granted, it’s looking to be a nice day but still. He’s hesitant.

“Sure, buddy. But won’t you burst into flames in sunlight?” He asks, putting on an expression of mock worry. Cas sticks out his tongue and brings a strip of bacon to his lips, licking them before he takes a bite. His Adam’s apple bobs a moment later and Dean forces his eyes back to Cas’s, looking for the missed question in his friend. “What?”

“You fucker, I said that it is anatomically impossible for me to burst into flames by sunlight,” Cas repeats, condescendingly waving his arm. He fashions his face back into something resembling its normal state before he continues. “We should go, though. That is if all you’re worried about is my complexion.” He wiggles his eyebrows slightly for effect, the asshole.

“I’m not worried about your complexion, dipshit. When do you want to go? We can take the Impala if you don’t want to ride the train.” Cas grimaces at the mere mention of the train. It’s not unusual for him to be fondled; Dean knows it is true when they went back to Cas’s sister’s apartment in San Francisco and a large man kept grabbing at his ass. Dean’s knuckles burst from the impact of hitting him. He smiles slightly at the memory and glances at Cas expectantly.

“Yeah, let’s take the car. I’ll pack some food, and you can get our stuff ready,” Cas says. The two finish off their breakfast in an easy silence, occasionally sharing a tidbit from the news on Cas’s part or a Sammy update on Dean’s part. Sam’s just gotten his first girlfriend, Ruby, and Dean couldn’t be more proud for his baby brother. Cas has met him only twice, and the entire time they were together, Sammy kept on throwing weird meaningful glances in Dean’s direction.

Dean finishes first and takes his plate to the dishwasher. Cas is still pecking at his food like a fucking bird, so Dean decides to get on with his chores so they can go hang out. He begins by cleaning their room; he tosses their clothes in their shared hamper, makes Cas’s bed before his own, and even sorts through the cacophony of listless sheets piled atop the large two-person desk positioned beside the window.

Everything is nice and sorted by the time Cas comes to retrieve him. He knocks at their shared doorway, gathering Dean’s attention. He looks about ready; there is a little green bag dangling from his fist, probably their food, and he’s transformed his appearance into something resembling general human hygiene. At least he tried to brush his hair.

“Did you get our shit ready?” Cas asks, raising a light brow. Shit. Dean hadn’t attempted to search out their things and instead opted for organizing his shared little ‘nest’. Yeah, he’s aware of how fucking lame that all sounds thank you very much. Trying to distract the man from his obvious neglect, Dean shoots him his most charming grin and brings a hand to rest behind his neck.

“I was just getting to that,” he responds. Castiel rewards him with an expression halfway past blatant irritation on its way to visit cousin homicidal. Dean slinks past him and retrieves a couple sweaters, three blankets, and his laptop so Cas will get off his back. He tosses his find onto Cas’s little bed and flops back onto it. “When are we going to go? It’s not even eleven, dude. There’s just going to be kids and old people,” Dean whines. Cas makes a little clicking noise, prompting Dean to roll so he’s leaning on his elbows and offers him a withering glare.

“What?” Dean demands. Cas walks over to where he’s set the items and plucks the blankets out of the pile. He stares at Dean as he answers, “We require a bag.” To which Dean replies, “Then go find one, dumbass.” The two are locked in a battle of eye contact, seeing who can hold out the longest. Evidently, Dean can because with an exasperated sigh Cas turns on his heel and walks out of the room with his shoulders slumped downward.

Dean grins, not at all checking out his roommate's ass as he evacuates the room. Dean turns his attention back to the extra sweaters and grabs their trunks just in case. Then, moments later, Cas’s voice bellows from the reception room.

“I swear to God, Winchester, if you’re primping up your hair again or flexing in the mirror, I’ll obliterate you from the surface of the Earth,” Cas growls, though there is a hint of teasing in his tone. Dean smirks to himself as he does, in fact, fluff his hair a bit in the front and walks out to meet Cas. Of course, he’s rewarded with a condescending glare from Cas’s part; his hands are dragging gel through the tips of his hair and Castiel never understood why people like looking good, probably because he doesn’t really have to try.

“Are you fucking serious right now, Dean?” Cas asks, genuine exasperation spiking in his eyes. Despite his feigned irritation, Dean notices Cas’s eyes scan over his face with an unusually impassive interest. As soon as Dean catches the minute gesture, however, Castiel pretends it never happened by stealing the keys to the Impala off the counter and sprinting out the door. Dean falters for a second before he follows Cas out the door, slamming it behind him.

They take the elevator together, not really making any conversation. They’re comfortable like this; Dean figured Cas to be the kind of guy that despised conversing with lowly mortals within hours of meeting him. Cas liked the concept of that comfort. He’s never really had a friend that would respect his anti-social tendencies.

When they reach the bottom floor, Dean takes the little bag from him and subtly retracts the key from Cas’s pockets. He sprints on ahead, like a merry mother fucker, and beelines straight for the revolving door on the far right of the large foyer, ignoring the security guard’s warning to be more careful. Fucking dumbass. Cas follows Dean out the door, well aware that the man knows they’re best friends, and ducks his head as he walks past.

Dean has the Impala running by the curb and rolls down the window with a cheesy villainous smile plastered on his face. “Hey, baby. Want to take a ride on the wild side?” He wiggles his eyebrows comically and breaks into a spasm of laughter. Cas just stares, internally reaping all of the secondhand embarrassment he has for Dean. He briefly considers heading back into their dorm before he realizes that he’s the one that suggested this outing in the first place. Say what you want about him, but Cas wasn’t flaky.

Cas settles himself into the passenger seat, marveling for the hundredth time at how much this car reflects Dean himself. From the cracked leather of the seats to the slick black paint job, it echoes Dean’s very persona: beautiful on the outside, but on the inside covered in memories and wear and tear. Cas feels eyes on him and glances into Dean’s eyes, seeing something close to adoration displayed in them. The man quickly looks back to the pavement and noisily clears his throat.

 “So, uh, yeah let’s go to the beach. Want to get some food first? It’s about forty-five minutes away if you’re planning on not freezing to death,” Dean mutters as he pulls into the nearly empty street. Cas says that he’s not hungry, but if Dean really wants to they could stop at the little pizza shop by the train station. Dean affirms and the engine roars in the direction of town center.


	2. A Heat of the Moment Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Castiel go to the beach. Castiel tells Dean something he has never told anyone else before, but Dean takes the news in stride, much to Castiel's surprise. Disclaimer: this chapter has frottage.

They get a takeaway pizza before they head out, mostly because Cas doesn’t like people watching him eat. Cas smiles a little when he says that’d be better because he doesn’t like anyone either, aside from Cas and his small group of friends in his major.

As they drive down the two-lane freeway into a small town just outside of Monterey, Cas decides to let his lazy flag fly and passes out on Dean’s shoulder. Not that he minds much, of course, though it is a little difficult to concentrate on driving when his kind of-hot best friend is just inches from his lips. 

Dean has always thought of Cas as a friend above all else because he knows he’s not Cas’s taste. Cas likes women; he always has and it looks like he always will. Dean knows this because this one time during their shared communications technology class, a handsome study abroad student named Balthazar came on to him. Cas outright punched him in the face, splitting three of his knuckles with the force of the blow. Still, this knowledge doesn’t stop him from creating intricate situations where Cas would fall for him and they’d be happy.

Of course, he’s aware that putting the fantasies to practice is impossible; Sammy doesn’t even know that Dean’s into men. If he voiced his preferences, he’d likely be rewarded with shock and a somewhat strained relationship. It didn’t stop his dad from beating the shit out of him when he found a men’s magazine tucked between his mattresses and force him to get a girlfriend during his sophomore year of high school. And Sammy is so much like Dad used to be: so stubborn and unwilling to hear anyone’s opinion but his own. He might react in the same way; hell, he would hurt Dean more by giving him the ‘it’s okay’ bullshit. Dean would rather it not be talked about and he gets addressed as a fucking human being.

Cas, of course, knows about his preferences. He didn’t show any antagonism to him, only replying with, “I am utterly indifferent to sexual orientation.” They never talked about it again, though, leading Dean to believe that Cas had developed his own opinions on the subject. Regardless, it hasn’t created a rift in their relationship and the two remain as strong a pair as they had when they moved in together. 

They drive in comfortable silence for about six miles, weaving through the mountainous terrain to the soundtrack of the White Album. Cas is enjoying the hell out of himself, a minute grin makes its home on his face after they reach the outskirts of Palo Alto and take the interstate westward. Dean, of course, is happy if Cas’s happy. 

They arrive at their destination within twenty minutes, Cas bubbling with anticipation for the final five. Cas has only been to the ocean a handful of times; he went twice with Dean, when he’d practically begged him to take him, and a couple times with his ex-girlfriend Meg. He’d returned thrilled by the experience, though Dean had to hear him complain about the sand in his ass crack for weeks following their little soiree. 

Dean pulls into the parking lot, keeping an eye on Cas whose hand is dangerously close to ripping the handle off the door. He parks the Impala and is barely unbuckling his seat belt when Cas jumps out of the car with a reverence he usually reserves for Saturday evening new Who episodes.

Dean sighs and climbs out of his seat, pulling their various things out with him when he notices that Cas forgot them in his haste. Cas is somewhere out by the water, most likely building a sand castle like the little shit he is. Dean walks out to meet his friend, carrying twice than what was promised to be his load.     

“Hey, idiot! What happened to helping out?” Dean yells to where Cas is, in fact, building a sand castle. He looks up from his mountainous creation, big blue eyes matching the sea exactly. His feathery hair is ruffled from the slight breeze and the smile on his face couldn’t be brighter of the sun itself was shining from it. 

“Dean, we’re at the beach!” Cas yells back, pulling Dean from what he realizes was a jaw-dropped gaze. Shit, he hopes Cas didn’t notice that. But going off of the way that the guy is grinning like a four-year-old and occasionally sprinting to the frigid water to splash around a bit, he didn’t notice. 

“Yeah, dumbass. I can see that,” Dean replies sarcastically. Cas trots up to him and grabs the basket and a blanket out of his arms, and then sprints back to where he was seated. He’s, let God forget Dean ever thinks it, absurdly adorable; that little grin that touches his eyes as he spreads the blanket too close to the tide, the way he screeches when the wind dusts up and shears a layer off his mountain, the way he frantically piles on more sand to compensate for what he lost. Dean feels himself walking in the direction of his best friend before his feet can stop themselves.

“Dean, c’mere. I’ve got something to tell you,” Cas beckons, creaking a finger in his direction. Dean, of course, can’t refuse and he flops down on the downy plaid blanket, the wind flying out of him from the impact. Cas stoops over his face, a warm smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “I’m smarter than you. If anything, you’re the dumbass.”

Fucker, getting him all close like this and only offering a damn smirk in return. Dean leans up on his elbows, bringing their faces remarkably close, and he doesn’t conceal his grin at the pink that Castiel’s cheeks decide to adopt.

“Yeah, I’ll bet you’re smarter. But I’m more clever,” Dean mutters, bringing his voice an octave lower. He’s rewarded with that lovely blush again, only intensified three-fold. Cas quickly pulls away and busies himself with the basket lying beside him.

“So, um, what do you want to do later? We could visit your brother if you have a free week,” Cas chirps, his voice bouncing up so he sounds like a pre-pubescent version of himself. “Or not, y’know, because of driving and all that hassle. Though, I suppose we could take the train, but I don’t like the train...” Cas fidgets uncomfortably in place, his hands flitting from the basket to his face to just above Dean’s face to his lap and back again. Dean shuts him up by cuffing a hand on his shoulder.

“Relax, man. We can totally visit Sam if that’s what you want to do. I don’t have class ‘til Friday,” Dean says, keeping his tone as steady as possible so Cas doesn’t sprint into the water. It works; Cas’s shoulders lose their tension and his smile is natural. “I’m relaxed, Dean. Why, afraid you scared me off?” Oh God, he’s wiggling his eyebrows with that stupid blush and that stupid smirk. Dammit, Cas.

“No, idiot. Want to leave tonight or we can go in the morning if you want,” Dean says, trying for a topic change so the bulge in his jeans doesn’t grow any more prominent. He should probably do something about it but he just folds his arms beneath his head. “Gotta pack up all of the books you stole from him though. He’s going to want those back,” Dean rolls over so his head is balanced on Cas’s knee.

“Fine, but I want to drive on the way back.” Cas drops a couple of sandwiches onto Dean’s chest and pats his forehead almost affectionately. His eyes pinch slightly at the corners when he touches Dean, a quirk Dean learned to mean that he’s hiding something.

 “Hey, what’s up?” Cas just pulls away slightly and glances seaward, his beautiful oceanic eyes swirling in time with the tide. He looks like he’s about to say something, his mouth opens in little gasps, but he reels his thoughts back in. “Seriously, dude. Talk to me,” Dean attempts to coax. 

Castiel turns back to bore a hole into Dean’s eyes, his eyes now shining with confidence and mild hesitation. He inhales, and the words come all at once. “What if I told you I had a thing for you? What would you do?” Cas asks, his face turning almost fuchsia, chin set stubbornly.

That’s a shocker, and that’s under exaggerating. Dean realizes he’s not breathing for a moment and that his jaw has dropped, given the taste of salt water on his tongue. “I, uh, what now?” Damn, that was a moron response to a friend basically confessing their love. 

He clears his throat and tries again; perfectly aware of the heat that’s coloring his face. He glances down and glares at his knees as he answers. “I’d say that I have a thing, too. For you, I mean.” He brings a hand to rest on the back of his neck and rubs at the hot skin there, totally aware of the weight of Cas’s eyes on his face. He’s counting grains of sand before Cas responds. 

The pressure of a warm palm meets his face and coerces it into meeting Cas’s open expression, completely awash with fresh wonder and utter happiness. That smile breaks across Cas’s face like the sun breaking through clouds in Seattle and Dean can’t help but return it. 

“Really?” Cas asks, his tone dripping in affection. Cas has never had problems with emotion like Dean has. It’s incredibly difficult for him to meet _that_ kind of tenderness, _that_ kind of adoration. But, Dean wants to be able to show it. He’s loved Cas for months now; hell, he’s loved him since the very first day they met and has slowly fell into its suffocating abyss.

“Yeah, really.” Dean lets the tiny smile dance along his lips, he allows his eyes to shine like Cas’s are. “I’ve had a thing for you since that day you bumped into me in front of engineering,” he continues. Cas’s head tilts then, recalling the memory. When he does, it’s with a frown.

“You bumped into me, you shit.” Cas grumbles, scooting away from Dean. He’s frown grows deeper when he recalls that he did, in fact, bump into Dean. “I don’t like you anymore, go away.” Cas jumps for his food and misses pathetically, landing on his belly in a heap of frustration. Dean laughs and almost pulls the fucker in for a kiss. _Almost._          

“Yeah, as if you could resist this,” Dean says instead, rubbing his hands mock-seductively over his chest. Cas turns and glares at him but the little tremble in his lip gives him away. Dean chuckles and sits up, holding his arms out in an offering.

Castiel eyes him warily. It’s understandable; of course, he just basically told Dean he’s got a big gooey crush on him. After a moment’s deliberation, however, Cas proves Dean’s worries null and accepts the embrace, allowing himself to drown in Dean’s chest.

Dean pulls him in, as close as he can. It’s all new; the proximity of Cas, not as a friend but as someone who he... y’know, cares for and shit. Of course, Dean has hugged Castiel before, but it had been harmless buddy things, like after Cas got accepted as a TA for McMillian alongside Dean. But he’s noticing things about Cas that he’d never even considered before. Specifically, the brush of his hair against Dean’s cheekbone, the clean yet musky scent of his skin- he borrowed Dean’s soap again, and his _warmth._ His very core is radiating a warmth Dean never felt in his entire life.

They pull away and Cas offers him a wink and a sarcastically blown kiss. Dean shrugs and takes a bite from Cas’s sandwich, earning him a symphony of ‘Dean!’s and ‘You fucker, I’ll eat your children’. Dean just grins in response, knowing Cas well enough to know that it would send him into a piss fit. Cas, however, shuts his mouth and looks seaward, a slow smile spreading over his face. 

“What?” Dean asks behind a mouthful of bologna. Cas looks almost wistful, staring at the rise and fall of the waves as they come and go in a natural tempo. Cas shakes his head and looks at his feet; dodging the question as always. Dean ignores him and continues eating. If Cas doesn’t want to tell him, that’s fine. After a few moments though, Cas is whispering something in a low pitch.

“I can’t hear you, buddy.” Dean scrutinizes his friends face, noting the light and extremely rare touch of pink on his cheeks. Cas blushes? Apparently, he does so with a vengeance when he’s confronted on it.

"I said, you’re the first person who took me to the beach in college,” Cas mumbles, not meeting Dean’s eye. That light pink has turned to a damn near fluorescent shade of red and he’s going to break his neck if he keeps rubbing it like that. Cas is... bashful. Dean almost laughs at the thought as he stares at Cas and finds that he’s serious.

“Yeah, I guess so.” He replies, his voice a terse grunt compared to Cas’s singsong baritone. He ducks his head, avoiding the sight of Cas as it is doing goofy things to his guts. “What about it?” he asks, his voice raising almost an octave in a pathetic squeak.

“You’re the first person I’ve liked, too. Meg was kind of… an asshole,” Cas mutters, gathering some strength going by the tone of his words. Dean looks up and finds that Cas is staring at him expectantly. His face isn’t as red as it was a moment ago; he looks almost confrontational. His brows are set in such a way that he’s glaring, but his mouth contrasts it with that dorky smile he saves especially for Dean after a hard day. “You’ve been my first for lots of things, Dean.” Cas affirms once he fully has Dean’s attention.

For not the first time, Cas’s abruptness and his ability to say something that could mean something else sends his self-control southward to the slowly growing bump in his jeans. Dammit, he’d planned on just going to the beach, like two normal guys, and eating some grub. He didn’t ask for this girly, albeit nice, shit.

“I, uh... Gee, Cas, I didn’t know I meant that much to ya’,” Dean replies lamely. He feels the blush creep onto his face before he can stop it and he ducks his head into his knees. God, he’s never been this utterly lame in his life. He sits like that, waiting for Cas to get the hint and scram because he knows that Dean’s horrible when it comes to relationships; Dean’s brought enough men and women alike back to their dorms for Cas to know that he’s never going to see them again. Hands are at Dean’s shoulders, pushing him into sitting position.

Cas’s eyes are almost glowing blue; Dean’s always thought Cas’s eyes were beautiful, but he’s never seen them _this_ close or _this_ bright. They’re taking on the same shade as the ocean again, that same deep blue that spirals depths unfathomable to mere mortals, and Dean loses his ability to do anything besides gaze into them, wondering how Cas is even this... everything. 

“Is it because you don’t feel worthy of being... loved that you’re like this, Dean?” Cas asks, his head tilting in that adorable way it does. Dean can feel himself reeling up for a punch and stops himself. Cas doesn’t know that he’s being an ass, but that doesn’t stop him from replying scathingly, “I... _feel_ worthy, you dick,” Dean pauses, “I just don’t need you thrusting all of this on me after six months of thinking you were just my friend.”

Cas looks slightly baffled for a moment, like he’s about to make the AOL start up screech. It’s almost funny, just until Cas’s confusion transforms into deep seated concentration, searching for an answer. His head tilts again when he does.

“But couldn’t we still be friends, even if we were in a non-platonic relationship?” Cas has taken on a hypothetical tone, as if mathematically devising whether or not they could actually act on their emotions. Dean, of course, knows that they easily could, given that it wouldn’t be much of a shock to their friends and neither of them gives any fucks about their family. “Dean, would you like to go out for dinner later?” Cas suddenly asks, his hands clasping around Dean’s knees in fervency he generally reserves to lecturing Dean on why he was incorrect. 

“Yeah, we were getting some later anyways, right?” Dean asks in response, not understanding his friend’s new angle. Cas shakes his head in little jerks and leans into Dean’s personal space. Those blue irises make their way around Dean’s face, examining it, before finally landing on his lips. Cas leans in and cautiously pecks them with his own.

“We were, but I mean more in the dating sense,” Cas whispers, continuing his little pecks and brushes along Dean’s face. Dean remains mostly still, not wanting to startle Cas away. He’s never been one for physical contact; at least, he hasn’t been since Dean met him. When Cas knots a fist into his collar, however, Dean’s resistance crumbles and he returns the kisses, pulling Cas between his legs so they rest more comfortably against each other. 

Chaste kisses turns to open-mouthed grappling turns to outright making out with Dean’s back pressed against the rough flannel blanket. Cas has a leg between Deans’ and is licking his way into Dean’s mouth uninterrupted. His hands are everywhere; they leave a trail of goose bumps as they drift from Dean’s scalp to his shoulders to the hemline of his shirt to his ribs as he pulls himself closer and closer. 

Dean thrusts up against Cas’s hipbone, his hardness sliding against the warm line of Cas’s own. Cas moans and bucks downward, searching for more of that friction. Dean gladly obliges him, gripping Cas’s hips and aligning them with his own, shimming his hips slightly so his ass doesn’t take the brunt of Cas’s weight. Cas moans again at the contact and thrusts his hips down, his entire length (and Dean will give him props for that) runs down the line of Dean’s and he doesn’t stop his hand in time for it not to grab Cas’s ass.

Cas grinds down on him once more and he suddenly stills. Dean cracks one eye open to stare at his friend, to see if there is any problem, and is rewarded with the sight of Cas mid-orgasm. His lips are parted in a small ‘o’, his eyes are squeezed shut, little wrinkles forming at the corners. Cas’s expression is enough to send Dean over the edge, coming so hard little stars dance in his vision. He doesn’t make a sound besides his breathing as he lets himself topple from his high, as Cas collapses into his chest.

They lay on the blanket for a few moments, gathering their breath and their bearings. Dean’s already beginning to feel sticky, and by the grossed out expression on Cas’s face, so is he. Dean pulls Cas off of him so the lay side by side, and threads his fingers through Castiel’s.

“How’s that for a first, Cas?” Dean asks, hearing the sarcasm and the genuine curiosity mingle in his question. Cas rotates so his head is propped in a hand as he lies on his side. The blue is starting to make another appearance in his eyes, though still mostly out shadowed by the arousal that blew out his pupils.

“It’s stickier than it was with Meg. I need to shower,” Cas replies, wrinkling his nose in a very Cas-like way. He pushes himself off the ground, shakily balancing himself on jello-legs. When he sturdies himself, he lends a hand to Dean. He takes it and hoists himself up, making a little noise when Cas surprisingly tugs him into a hug. Those chapped, puffy lips are at his ear and Cas whispers, “You still haven’t answered my question.”

Dean sighs and pulls away, examining his best friends face. After a moment's deliberation, he rubs a hand against his forehead. He really doesn’t think it’s a good idea, but what the hell.

“Yeah, Cas. We can go on a date.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about how late this is (it's Friday where I'm from but I post on Thursdays and Saturdays if I can) but I had a date yesterday and when I got home I was too tired to edit. That being said, I really hope you enjoy(ed) this chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

They get a takeaway pizza before they head out, mostly because Cas doesn’t like people watching him eat. Cas smiles a little when he says that’d be better because he doesn’t like anyone either, aside from Cas and his small group of friends in his major.

As they drive down the two-lane freeway into a small town just outside of Monterey, Cas decides to let his lazy flag fly and passes out on Dean’s shoulder. Not that he minds much, of course, though it is a little difficult to concentrate on driving when his kind of-hot best friend is just inches from his lips.

Dean has always thought of Cas as a friend above all else because he knows he’s not Cas’s taste. Cas likes women; he always has and it looks like he always will. Dean knows this because this one time during their shared communications technology class, a handsome study abroad student named Balthazar came on to him. Cas outright punched him in the face, splitting three of his knuckles with the force of the blow. Still, this knowledge doesn’t stop him from creating intricate situations where Cas would fall for him and they’d be happy.

Of course, he’s aware that putting the fantasies to practice is impossible; Sammy doesn’t even know that Dean’s into men. If he voiced his preferences, he’d likely be rewarded with shock and a somewhat strained relationship. It didn’t stop his dad from beating the shit out of him when he found a men’s magazine tucked between his mattresses and force him to get a girlfriend during his sophomore year of high school. And Sammy is so much like Dad used to be: so stubborn and unwilling to hear anyone’s opinion but his own. He might react in the same way; hell, he would hurt Dean more by giving him the ‘it’s okay’ bullshit. Dean would rather it not be talked about and he gets addressed as a fucking human being.

Cas, of course, knows about his preferences. He didn’t show any antagonism to him, only replying with, “I am utterly indifferent to sexual orientation.” They never talked about it again, though, leading Dean to believe that Cas had developed his own opinions on the subject. Regardless, it hasn’t created a rift in their relationship and the two remain as strong a pair as they had when they moved in together.

They drive in comfortable silence for about six miles, weaving through the mountainous terrain to the soundtrack of the White Album. Cas is enjoying the hell out of himself, a minute grin makes its home on his face after they reach the outskirts of Palo Alto and take the interstate westward. Dean, of course, is happy if Cas’s happy.

They arrive at their destination within twenty minutes, Cas bubbling with anticipation for the final five. Cas has only been to the ocean a handful of times; he went twice with Dean, when he’d practically begged him to take him, and a couple times with his ex-girlfriend Meg. He’d returned thrilled by the experience, though Dean had to hear him complain about the sand in his ass crack for weeks following their little soiree.

Dean pulls into the parking lot, keeping an eye on Cas whose hand is dangerously close to ripping the handle off the door. He parks the Impala and is barely unbuckling his seat belt when Cas jumps out of the car with a reverence he usually reserves for Saturday evening new Who episodes.

Dean sighs and climbs out of his seat, pulling their various things out with him when he notices that Cas forgot them in his haste. Cas is somewhere out by the water, most likely building a sand castle like the little shit he is. Dean walks out to meet his friend, carrying twice than what was promised to be his load.        

“Hey, idiot! What happened to helping out?” Dean yells to where Cas is, in fact, building a sand castle. He looks up from his mountainous creation, big blue eyes matching the sea exactly. His feathery hair is ruffled from the slight breeze and the smile on his face couldn’t be brighter of the sun itself was shining from it.

“Dean, we’re at the beach!” Cas yells back, pulling Dean from what he realizes was a jaw-dropped gaze. Shit, he hopes Cas didn’t notice that. But going off of the way that the guy is grinning like a four-year-old and occasionally sprinting to the frigid water to splash around a bit, he didn’t notice.

“Yeah, dumbass. I can see that,” Dean replies sarcastically. Cas trots up to him and grabs the basket and a blanket out of his arms, and then sprints back to where he was seated. He’s, let God forget Dean ever thinks it, absurdly adorable; that little grin that touches his eyes as he spreads the blanket too close to the tide, the way he screeches when the wind dusts up and shears a layer off his mountain, the way he frantically piles on more sand to compensate for what he lost. Dean feels himself walking in the direction of his best friend before his feet can stop themselves.

“Dean, c’mere. I’ve got something to tell you,” Cas beckons, creaking a finger in his direction. Dean, of course, can’t refuse and he flops down on the downy plaid blanket, the wind flying out of him from the impact. Cas stoops over his face, a warm smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “I’m smarter than you. If anything, you’re the dumbass.”

Fucker, getting him all close like this and only offering a damn smirk in return. Dean leans up on his elbows, bringing their faces remarkably close, and he doesn’t conceal his grin at the pink that Castiel’s cheeks decide to adopt.

“Yeah, I’ll bet you’re smarter. But I’m more clever,” Dean mutters, bringing his voice an octave lower. He’s rewarded with that lovely blush again, only intensified three-fold. Cas quickly pulls away and busies himself with the basket lying beside him.

“So, um, what do you want to do later? We could visit your brother if you have a free week,” Cas chirps, his voice bouncing up so he sounds like a pre-pubescent version of himself. “Or not, y’know, because of driving and all that hassle. Though, I suppose we could take the train, but I don’t like the train...” Cas fidgets uncomfortably in place, his hands flitting from the basket to his face to just above Dean’s face to his lap and back again. Dean shuts him up by cuffing a hand on his shoulder.

“Relax, man. We can totally visit Sam if that’s what you want to do. I don’t have class ‘til Friday,” Dean says, keeping his tone as steady as possible so Cas doesn’t sprint into the water. It works; Cas’s shoulders lose their tension and his smile is natural. “I’m relaxed, Dean. Why, afraid you scared me off?” Oh God, he’s wiggling his eyebrows with that stupid blush and that stupid smirk. Dammit, Cas.   

“No, idiot. Want to leave tonight or we can go in the morning if you want,” Dean says, trying for a topic change so the bulge in his jeans doesn’t grow any more prominent. He should probably do something about it but he just folds his arms beneath his head. “Gotta pack up all of the books you stole from him though. He’s going to want those back,” Dean rolls over so his head is balanced on Cas’s knee.

“Fine, but I want to drive on the way back.” Cas drops a couple of sandwiches onto Dean’s chest and pats his forehead almost affectionately. His eyes pinch slightly at the corners when he touches Dean, a quirk Dean learned to mean that he’s hiding something.

“Hey, what’s up?” Cas just pulls away slightly and glances seaward, his beautiful oceanic eyes swirling in time with the tide. He looks like he’s about to say something, his mouth opens in little gasps, but he reels his thoughts back in. “Seriously, dude. Talk to me,” Dean attempts to coax.

Castiel turns back to bore a hole into Dean’s eyes, his eyes now shining with confidence and mild hesitation. He inhales, and the words come all at once. “What if I told you I had a thing for you? What would you do?” Cas asks, his face turning almost fuchsia, chin set stubbornly.

That’s a shocker, and that’s under exaggerating. Dean realizes he’s not breathing for a moment and that his jaw has dropped, given the taste of salt water on his tongue. “I, uh, what now?” Damn, that was a moron response to a friend basically confessing their love.

He clears his throat and tries again; perfectly aware of the heat that’s coloring his face. He glances down and glares at his knees as he answers. “I’d say that I have a thing, too. For you, I mean.” He brings a hand to rest on the back of his neck and rubs at the hot skin there, totally aware of the weight of Cas’s eyes on his face. He’s counting grains of sand before Cas responds.

The pressure of a warm palm meets his face and coerces it into meeting Cas’s open expression, completely awash with fresh wonder and utter happiness. That smile breaks across Cas’s face like the sun breaking through clouds in Seattle and Dean can’t help but return it.

“Really?” Cas asks, his tone dripping in affection. Cas has never had problems with emotion like Dean has. It’s incredibly difficult for him to meet _that_ kind of tenderness, _that_ kind of adoration. But, Dean wants to be able to show it. He’s loved Cas for months now; hell, he’s loved him since the very first day they met and has slowly fell into its suffocating abyss.

“Yeah, really.” Dean lets the tiny smile dance along his lips, he allows his eyes to shine like Cas’s are. “I’ve had a thing for you since that day you bumped into me in front of engineering,” he continues. Cas’s head tilts then, recalling the memory. When he does, it’s with a frown.

“You bumped into me, you shit.” Cas grumbles, scooting away from Dean. He’s frown grows deeper when he recalls that he did, in fact, bump into Dean. “I don’t like you anymore, go away.” Cas jumps for his food and misses pathetically, landing on his belly in a heap of frustration. Dean laughs and almost pulls the fucker in for a kiss. _Almost._     

“Yeah, as if you could resist this,” Dean says instead, rubbing his hands mock-seductively over his chest. Cas turns and glares at him but the little tremble in his lip gives him away. Dean chuckles and sits up, holding his arms out in an offering.

Castiel eyes him warily. It’s understandable; of course, he just basically told Dean he’s got a big gooey crush on him. After a moment’s deliberation, however, Cas proves Dean’s worries null and accepts the embrace, allowing himself to drown in Dean’s chest.

Dean pulls him in, as close as he can. It’s all new; the proximity of Cas, not as a friend but as someone who he... y’know, cares for and shit. Of course, Dean has hugged Castiel before, but it had been harmless buddy things, like after Cas got accepted as a TA for McMillian alongside Dean. But he’s noticing things about Cas that he’d never even considered before. Specifically, the brush of his hair against Dean’s cheekbone, the clean yet musky scent of his skin- he borrowed Dean’s soap again, and his _warmth._ His very core is radiating a warmth Dean never felt in his entire life.

They pull away and Cas offers him a wink and a sarcastically blown kiss. Dean shrugs and takes a bite from Cas’s sandwich, earning him a symphony of ‘Dean!’s and ‘You fucker, I’ll eat your children’. Dean just grins in response, knowing Cas well enough to know that it would send him into a piss fit. Cas, however, shuts his mouth and looks seaward, a slow smile spreading over his face.

“What?” Dean asks behind a mouthful of bologna. Cas looks almost wistful, staring at the rise and fall of the waves as they come and go in a natural tempo. Cas shakes his head and looks at his feet; dodging the question as always. Dean ignores him and continues eating. If Cas doesn’t want to tell him, that’s fine. After a few moments though, Cas is whispering something in a low pitch.

“I can’t hear you, buddy.” Dean scrutinizes his friends face, noting the light and extremely rare touch of pink on his cheeks. Cas blushes? Apparently, he does so with a vengeance when he’s confronted on it.

“I said, you’re the first person who took me to the beach in college,” Cas mumbles, not meeting Dean’s eye. That light pink has turned to a damn near fluorescent shade of red and he’s going to break his neck if he keeps rubbing it like that. Cas is... bashful. Dean almost laughs at the thought as he stares at Cas and finds that he’s serious.

“Yeah, I guess so.” He replies, his voice a terse grunt compared to Cas’s singsong baritone. He ducks his head, avoiding the sight of Cas as it is doing goofy things to his guts. “What about it?” he asks, his voice raising almost an octave in a pathetic squeak.

“You’re the first person I’ve liked, too. Meg was kind of… an asshole,” Cas mutters, gathering some strength going by the tone of his words. Dean looks up and finds that Cas is staring at him expectantly. His face isn’t as red as it was a moment ago; he looks almost confrontational. His brows are set in such a way that he’s glaring, but his mouth contrasts it with that dorky smile he saves especially for Dean after a hard day. “You’ve been my first for lots of things, Dean.” Cas affirms once he fully has Dean’s attention.

For not the first time, Cas’s abruptness and his ability to say something that could mean something else sends his self-control southward to the slowly growing bump in his jeans. Dammit, he’d planned on just going to the beach, like two normal guys, and eating some grub. He didn’t ask for this girly, albeit nice, shit.

“I, uh... Gee, Cas, I didn’t know I meant that much to ya’,” Dean replies lamely. He feels the blush creep onto his face before he can stop it and he ducks his head into his knees. God, he’s never been this utterly lame in his life. He sits like that, waiting for Cas to get the hint and scram because he knows that Dean’s horrible when it comes to relationships; Dean’s brought enough men and women alike back to their dorms for Cas to know that he’s never going to see them again. Hands are at Dean’s shoulders, pushing him into sitting position.

Cas’s eyes are almost glowing blue; Dean’s always thought Cas’s eyes were beautiful, but he’s never seen them _this_ close or _this_ bright. They’re taking on the same shade as the ocean again, that same deep blue that spirals depths unfathomable to mere mortals, and Dean loses his ability to do anything besides gaze into them, wondering how Cas is even this... everything.

“Is it because you don’t feel worthy of being... loved that you’re like this, Dean?” Cas asks, his head tilting in that adorable way it does. Dean can feel himself reeling up for a punch and stops himself. Cas doesn’t know that he’s being an ass, but that doesn’t stop him from replying scathingly, “I... _feel_ worthy, you dick,” Dean pauses, “I just don’t need you thrusting all of this on me after six months of thinking you were just my friend.”

Cas looks slightly baffled for a moment, like he’s about to make the AOL start up screech. It’s almost funny, just until Cas’s confusion transforms into deep seated concentration, searching for an answer. His head tilts again when he does.

“But couldn’t we still be friends, even if we were in a non-platonic relationship?” Cas has taken on a hypothetical tone, as if mathematically devising whether or not they could actually act on their emotions. Dean, of course, knows that they easily could, given that it wouldn’t be much of a shock to their friends and neither of them gives any fucks about their family. “Dean, would you like to go out for dinner later?” Cas suddenly asks, his hands clasping around Dean’s knees in fervency he generally reserves to lecturing Dean on why he was incorrect.

“Yeah, we were getting some later anyways, right?” Dean asks in response, not understanding his friend’s new angle. Cas shakes his head in little jerks and leans into Dean’s personal space. Those blue irises make their way around Dean’s face, examining it, before finally landing on his lips. Cas leans in and cautiously pecks them with his own.

“We were, but I mean more in the dating sense,” Cas whispers, continuing his little pecks and brushes along Dean’s face. Dean remains mostly still, not wanting to startle Cas away. He’s never been one for physical contact; at least, he hasn’t been since Dean met him. When Cas knots a fist into his collar, however, Dean’s resistance crumbles and he returns the kisses, pulling Cas between his legs so they rest more comfortably against each other.

Chaste kisses turns to open-mouthed grappling turns to outright making out with Dean’s back pressed against the rough flannel blanket. Cas has a leg between Deans’ and is licking his way into Dean’s mouth uninterrupted. His hands are everywhere; they leave a trail of goose bumps as they drift from Dean’s scalp to his shoulders to the hemline of his shirt to his ribs as he pulls himself closer and closer.

Dean thrusts up against Cas’s hipbone, his hardness sliding against the warm line of Cas’s own. Cas moans and bucks downward, searching for more of that friction. Dean gladly obliges him, gripping Cas’s hips and aligning them with his own, shimming his hips slightly so his ass doesn’t take the brunt of Cas’s weight. Cas moans again at the contact and thrusts his hips down, his entire length (and Dean will give him props for that) runs down the line of Dean’s and he doesn’t stop his hand in time for it not to grab Cas’s ass.

Cas grinds down on him once more and he suddenly stills. Dean cracks one eye open to stare at his friend, to see if there is any problem, and is rewarded with the sight of Cas mid-orgasm. His lips are parted in a small ‘o’, his eyes are squeezed shut, little wrinkles forming at the corners. Cas’s expression is enough to send Dean over the edge, coming so hard little stars dance in his vision. He doesn’t make a sound besides his breathing as he lets himself topple from his high, as Cas collapses into his chest.           

They lay on the blanket for a few moments, gathering their breath and their bearings. Dean’s already beginning to feel sticky, and by the grossed out expression on Cas’s face, so is he. Dean pulls Cas off of him so the lay side by side, and threads his fingers through Castiel’s.

“How’s that for a first, Cas?” Dean asks, hearing the sarcasm and the genuine curiosity mingle in his question. Cas rotates so his head is propped in a hand as he lies on his side. The blue is starting to make another appearance in his eyes, though still mostly out shadowed by the arousal that blew out his pupils.

“It’s sticky. I need to shower,” Cas replies, wrinkling his nose in a very Cas-like way. He pushes himself off the ground, shakily balancing himself on jello-legs. When he sturdies himself, he lends a hand to Dean. He takes it and hoists himself up, making a little noise when Cas surprisingly tugs him into a hug. Those chapped, puffy lips are at his ear and Cas whispers, “You still haven’t answered my question.”

Dean sighs and pulls away, examining his best friends face. After a moments deliberation he rubs a hand against his forehead. He really doesn’t think it’s a good idea, but what the hell.

“Yeah, Cas. We can go on a date.”


	4. A New First

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel and Dean go on a date. For a while, it's incredibly awkward what with both of their inability to admit liking each other's companionship. Dean makes a suggestion and the two head back to their apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, this chapter has sex.

“Cas, why the fuck do I have to wear a suit? You know how I feel about suits.” Dean is pulling frustratedly at the collar of his dress shirt, grimacing as it refuses to loosen. Cas just looks at him, an eminent frown splayed across his face and his mouth set in a purse of mock sympathy.

 “Oh, is it too tight? Pardon me while I play the world’s tiniest violin,” Cas replies scathingly, sliding the knot of his own tie up to his neck. Dean would’ve kept arguing if Cas didn’t look so fucking hot in suits; the tie matches the sky blue of his eyes almost perfectly. And the deep shades of the suit itself and his hair starkly contrast his pale skin and the white of the shirt. Dean is totally up for stripping Cas of all he’s wearing when they return from that fucking restaurant by the pier.

Cas finishes dressing first and heads to the living room. Dean can hear the distinct squeak of Cas’s weight flopping onto the leather couch in their living room, the slide of the leather as he slides his feet up and onto Dean’s side of the thing. He smirks, unable to hide his amusement at Cas’s near persistent irritation with everything and his escape to the television Dean’s mother had purchased them.       

Dean makes the final adjustments on his collar, pulling it just so it’s loose enough to breathe and walks out to meet Cas by standing in his field of vision. He holds his arms out in presentation. “What do you think?” Dean asks, rotating a little from his waist.      

The look Cas gives him is, initially, extremely pestered, as though he can barely contain himself from braining Dean. But, when he takes in the fancy getup, Dean watches his eyes darken slightly, and almost misses the speed with which Castiel bounds up from the couch and wraps his arms around Dean’s neck.

“I think I’d like to kiss you again,” Castiel murmurs, his voice low and his eyes on Dean’s lips. Of course, Dean’s up for that. Hell, he’d trade most of his things to kiss Cas because, contrary to popular belief, Cas is quite the kisser. So, it’s very understandable when, as they tilt their heads and their lips meet in a somewhat chaste kiss, Dean releases an extremely subtle moan. 

Their chaste kiss quickly escalates into passionate kissing, and that quickly escalates to Cas sliding a leg between Dean’s and cracking both of their mouths open so tongue meets tongue, heat meets heat. Dean grinds down onto Cas’s thigh, grateful for the friction but dying for more. 

Cas breaks the kiss and huffs warm puffs of breaths against Dean’s chin. After a moment, he looks up at Dean, those big blue eyes now engulfed in a sea of black. His eyebrows knit together for a second, as though he’s contemplating with great consideration, but he quickly drops it and pushes Dean away. 

“I’ll go warm up the Impala. Fix your hair and meet me outside,” Cas says, making for the little key rack Dean had built when Cas kept searching his things for the damn keys. He spares Dean one last glance before running out the door, letting cool air into the room. Dean sighs and makes for the bathroom, palming an unfortunately neglected erection. 

He checks his reflection in the mirror and is greeted with the image of exquisitely swollen lips and nearly fuchsia blushed cheeks. Cas wasn’t lying about his hair, though there isn’t nearly as much to fix up there as there is to fix everywhere else. His hardness is tenting his pants slightly from the tension of holding it in. The splotches of red flush decorating his complexion need to be calmed down for it to not look like he’d just gotten thoroughly fucked. 

Dean straightens his suit and adjusts his now loosened tie. Then he goes to work on his hair, gelling it into that boyish flip that Cas has always told him makes him look like a movie star in the making. Since he can’t really do anything about his face, he just splashes on some cold water and thinks horrendous thoughts to force his member back down. It doesn’t really work but hey, what the hell, he tried.

He walks out of the bathroom and out of the room, making sure to grab his wallet from the little cabinet placed by the door. Dean turns the handle, bracing himself against the cold California air. Shuffling into the night, Dean spots Cas sitting in the driver’s seat of the Impala, loud music booming from his baby’s stereo. Damn, that’s going to destroy the speakers.

Dean knocks on the window and pulls open the door. He’s greeted by the unpleasing ‘symphony’ of dub step music, and if he’s not mistaken, it’s Cas’s personal favorite, Skrillex. He poises himself in the passenger seat and dials down the volume to a less threatening tremor. 

“Dude, what the hell is with you and this new age shit?” Dean asks, shooting his best friend a confused glance. Cas huffs out a grunt and puts the Impala in drive. 

Within twenty minutes, they are speeding down the interstate. Dean has convinced Cas to change the music to something more agreeable and ‘Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds’ blares as they cross the bridge into uptown San Francisco. 

Cas still hasn’t told Dean exactly where they are going; only that it’s on the pier and that Dean should wear something nice. Of course, Dean agreed completely willingly. He didn’t lie when he said he loved Cas; well, he never told Cas he loved him, but Dean thinks Cas should get the picture. His going with Cas to a posh restaurant on West End should be proof enough of that alone.       

As Cas takes the turn-off onto a northbound highway, Dean reaches over and takes his free hand. Castiel, bumbling idiot he is, temporarily loses control and they swerve slightly.

“What the hell, man?” Dean yells at the man, internally screaming. Cas, having bridged the point from internal to external expression, can only bark out, “Nothing!” before screeching as he swerves out of the path of a speeding semi-truck. When they’re well out of Death’s grip, Cas starts giggling like a mad man.

“Cas!” Dean yells, but he can’t help the chortle breaking free of his chest. They laugh as they pull off the interstate and onto the crowded streets. They giggle as they park and walk the five blocks to the shore. They’re still snorting as Cas instructs the hostess of their reservations at a seafood place. And they’re finally calm when they are seated at a small table in the center of the restaurant.

A waitress stops by their table and drops off a couple menus for the pair of them to look at. Of course, Cas goes straight to the wine page and pulls out his fake ID. Fucking moron does that every time they’re in town. Dean has one too, obviously; he likes drinking with Cas. He could be a fucking philosopher, going off of some of the things Dean heard Cas say in a drunken haze. Dean sighs and leans into one hand.

“You do know that people _don’t_ get drunk off their ass on dates,” Dean mutters, not really wanting Cas to answer. Obviously, Cas has to answer with a glare.

“You should talk, Winchester. I found the whiskey in the cabinets again,” Cas replies scathingly. He turns his attention back to the alcohol and Dean can’t help sighing again. This is turning out just as awkward as he expected it would. That’s what happens when people date their friends; there’s just too much between them. 

They stare at the menus for a few minutes, trying to avoid talking to each other while finding things to talk about. Sometimes Cas glances up and opens his mouth, but quickly shuts it and bores holes into his hands. Other times, Dean would be the one looking up about to say something he knows Cas would like, but shutting up when those innocent eyes land on him with the most openness Dean had ever seen on someone. 

Eventually, the waitress returns and asks what they would like. They tell her, and she leaves, allowing the atmosphere to tense up again. Dean swivles his thumbs in little circles and Cas picks at a scab on his knuckle. They avoid eye contact like two middle schoolers waiting to go to a dance. Finally, Dean sets his hands on the table and just says it. 

“You like me, yeah?” He asks, moderately rhetorically. Cas looks at him and nods a tiny thing, a smile pulling at his cheeks. Dean takes this as a hint to continue. “Well, I, um, like you back. I didn’t really answer you, uh, straight up and... shit, earlier.” Dean is rubbing his hand behind his neck.

Instead of petulantly ignoring him, like he had expected, Cas’s eyes do this weird twinkling thing. There is a war raging in those blues, and the contestants are the ocean, the sky, the galaxy, and the light of a new dawn. His face breaks into a wide smile, so wide that little wrinkles form in the corners of his eyes. So wide that Dean can see all of Cas’s pearly whites. 

Dean smiles back, knowing it’s tentative and ridiculously shy, but happy that Cas is happy. Dean stops fiddling with his hands like a nervous school boy and offers one to Cas, which, much to Dean’s thrill, is accepted. Of course, that only serves to widen his grin and they probably look like a couple of mopey dorks going by the adoring glances from the tables surrounding theirs. Of course, all of Dean’s attention is on Cas, so he notices when he gets a reply.

“I know, Dean. It’s just nice to hear you say so,” Cas mumbles. Just then, the waitress returns with their food, bringing a flask of wine on ice for them to share and two long necked crystal glasses. Dean glances at her, the question not out of his mouth before she answers.

“It’s on the house,” She says, gesturing to the wine. “Honeymooners stop in a lot and we always offer complimentary wine.” And with a wink, she leaves them floundering in her direction. ‘Honeymooners’? Cas looks like he’s about to break into hysterical laughter and Dean can only silently stare after her path before he grabs the bottle out of its position in the bucket of ice and removes the glass stopper.

“Well, we get free wine,” Dean says after an awkward pause, avoiding Cas’s eyes. He can feel Cas scanning him for any signs of duress. There is probably something in his face suggesting displeasure of the event that conspired seconds ago, but Dean can only pour the red liquid into each of their glasses and calmly place the bottle back into the bucket. “Not a bad choice, eh Cas?” 

He finally lets his eyes meet his companion’s, the forest meeting the sea in a crash of natural proportions. Cas tilts his head, a minute smile dancing on his lips. Dean follows the movement with his eyes, charting how Cas’s face does certain things in reaction to what Dean says. Finally, Cas replies.

“Well, dear, it’s nice to know our honeymoon has _some_ advantages,” Cas replies in a Lucille Ball-like accent. Dean snorts into his glass and breaks out into violent giggles. That was the icing on the cake; four for you, Cas. His friend grins back, swallowing a mouthful before he allows himself to laugh with Dean. 

“You’re freakin’ awesome, man,” Dean says, shaking his head. The amount of sarcasm that man is capable of is staggering; Cas could probably sass his way out of a murder charge if need be. Cas’s eyes flit down to his food and he begins pecking at it in his odd way. Dean eats too, and they don’t really speak for a while; they just quietly sip their wine until they both work up a nice buzz. 

After about twenty minutes, Dean puts down his burger, both satisfied and extremely unsatisfied. He’d much rather be at the apartment right now, making out with Cas on their couch, or blowing Cas, or, if he were being completely honest with himself, he’d rather be fucking or being fucked by Cas. So, he turns to the man in question in his relatively buzzed stupor.

“Hey, Cas? When do you want to head back to campus?” He asks, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively as Cas stuffs broccoli into his mouth. His head perks up, eyes brightening when Dean addresses him.

“Whenever. Don’t you want to do something while were in town?” Cas asks in return, placing his fork down and folding his hands beneath his chin. His cheeks are slightly flushed and Dean thinks his smile is a little _too_ dopey, but that might be the alcohol showing him things that aren’t there. Cas grins at him earnestly and pushes his food away. “Did you have something in mind that we could do at campus?”

Dean sighs and grins back, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the table. “I did, but it wouldn’t be... proper to tell you in this restaurant,” Dean mumbles, keeping his voice low. God, he sounds like a creep. But Cas doesn’t really seem to mind; he just gives him doe eyes and mumbles something about, “I’ll pay for this one.”

* * *

* * *

Cas pays and they take the back roads in the Impala, going just above twenty the whole way back. They arrive in front of the apartment around midnight and slide out of the car stupidly and clumsily; groping and touching each other as they climb the steps. Cas stuffs four keys into the lock, paying more attention to dragging Dean in for kisses, before the correct one unlocks their door.

He pushes the door and it swings open, greeting them with warm air and dim lighting from the living room. Cas fumbles for Dean’s hand, flapping it across Dean’s body wildly until it finally hits its mark, and drags him in towards the sofa. 

They land with a mutual _oof_ , Dean on his back and Cas pressed flush against his chest. He leans down and plants one on Dean, those soft, albeit slightly chapped lips, working a tandem against Dean’s. His hands slowly drift down Dean’s ribs, catching on his jacket, and he thumbs little circles into the exposed skin just above Dean’s waist band.

Dean returns the affection and then some; he wraps his legs around Cas’s knees and pulls him in as close as he can. Cas moans as the motion brings their hardened members together, bucking against Dean for more of that sweet friction. Dean grinds down in return; hands tearing at Cas’s shirt to get it off and prodding at his dress pants to remove any layer of fabric that threatens their pleasure.

Castiel breaks the slightly-more-than-a-kiss to discard his shirt and pants, leaving only his boxers. Dean’s eyes follow the motion, categorizing all of that beautiful exposed skin. Cas is very pale; the red flush of his arousal is made all the more prominent by it. Fortunately or unfortunately, however, Cas decided to wear his dorky Lord of the Rings boxers and Dean can’t stop the laugh from leaking out of his taut lips.       

“What?” Cas growls, eyes scanning his exposed form. Dean can only laugh harder, though to his credit he does try to stop. It only gets funnier as Cas grows more and more flustered, pushing at Dean until he shuts up.

“If we’re really doing this, those are a deal breaker, dude.” Dean slides up the couch and unbuttons his shirt, grateful for the distraction from his incredibly close orgasm. He slides out of the confines of his clothing and reclines back onto the sofa, holding his arms wide in offering to Cas. “Just sayin’ though, I’d be cool with, um, y’know.” Dean stumbles over his words. He never really had to offer himself to anyone; Cas would be his ‘first’ or whatever.

Cas just looks over his nearly nude form and Dean can visibly see his eyes darken with some form of drunken lust. He stands, and before Dean can protest from the lack of contact, offers a hand to him. “Bedroom?” He asks.

“Yeah,” Dean replies, his mouth suddenly dry. He allows himself to be pulled from the couch and dragged to their shared room. Cas glances between the beds, and seeming to favor his own, pushes Dean onto his back. 

“You sure?” Cas asks, climbing atop him and draping kisses onto his chest and collarbone. All Dean can do is nodding his affirmation; he’s never wanted something so bad as he wants Cas right now. 

Castiel redirects his attention from Dean’s chest to peppering more wet smooches down his abdomen to sucking hickeys on his hipbones. He stops just above the waistband of Dean’s briefs, bringing his hands to rest upon his hips. He glimpses back up to Dean, the question still in his eyes. In answer, Dean puts his own hands on Cas’s and yanks of the damn things himself, growing impatient at Cas’s hesitancy.

Cas gasps slightly when he sees Dean’s cock. Dean himself had never thought it to be very impressive; just your regular run of the mill dick. Apparently, Cas has another opinion as he licks and nibbles at it, tonging at the slit and sucking near the base. All Dean can do is hold onto the sheets as Cas has his way with him, writhing and moaning as Cas’s mouth does obscene things.

When Cas wraps his lips around the head and begins bobbing up and down the shaft, Dean all but loses it. He screeches and moans and cries and groans like no one has ever made him do in his life. Cas has _had_ to have done this before; his tongue alone could bring Dean over the edge simply by teasing it. 

Just as the heat is pooling in his stomach and his hips are canting skyward, Cas pulls his mouth away and stands to remove those ridiculous boxers. His cock springs free, bouncing slightly with his movements as he maneuvers himself over Dean once more.

“How do you...” Cas begins, but Dean tugs him forward and crashes their lips together in a wet, open-mouthed kiss. He pulls away and brings his lips to Castiel’s ear. “I want you in me,” he whispers, allowing the lust to color his tone. He can feel Cas’s blush against his cheek and pulls away to see the brilliant pink dance over his cheeks. 

“Okay, um, hold on a sec,” he mumbles as he stands and walks to his dresser. He opens one of the top drawers and whispers little curses as he searches out something. When he finds it, he yelps and presents his findings to Dean. There’s a small bottle of lube resting in the palm of his hand and Dean realizes his own blush is up for display before he really does anything to conceal it.

“It’s from when Meg and I were, uh, fucking and stuff,” Cas mutters, avoiding eye contact. Dean allows a mild chuckle at that; he sincerely doubts Meg would go for that sort of thing. It was probably from that week Cas couldn’t stop raving about the foreign exchange student in their comparative lit class. Even Dean had to admit that accent was kind of hot. But kudos to Cas for getting some.

“Okay, Casanova. Do you have anything else?” Dean grunts in return, hoping Cas has condoms because he sure as hell doesn’t. Cas nods and retrieves the little golden foiled thing from the same drawer and bounds back to the bed. Tearing the little package, he rolls the rubber on and bends down to spread Dean’s legs.

“Can I-,” Cas begins and Dean sighs once again, extending his hand for the small bottle. Cas hands it over wordlessly, his blush now an alarming shade of red. He unscrews the lid and holds out his hand for Cas’s. When the tentative weight settles on his, he squirts out a generous amount of the viscous liquid onto Cas’s fingers, swirling them together to fully coat them.

“You have done this before, right?” He asks, just making sure Cas doesn’t need any further instruction. Cas nods back at him, but stops. “I watched Balthazar do it when we, um, fucked.” Cas pulls his hand away and nudges Dean’s legs apart until they dangle off the sides of the bed. Then, he pulls Dean by the hips so his ass rests on Cas’s lap, the thick weight of his cock wisping by Dean’s upper thigh. 

He draws Dean’s hips up gently with one hand while bringing his lubed up fingers down with the other, an expression of extreme concentration making its home on his brow. There is a small pressure against Dean’s hole as the first finger presses in, the slimy girth of it somewhat awkward but manageable. Cas pushes and pushes until he’s buried knuckle deep; then he crook it upwards.

It’s an odd feeling, having himself opened up. Briefly, Dean wonders if this is what girls feel like when they have sex; the whole non-invasive invasiveness of it. Not that he’s complaining of course, he’s merely curious. His mind is drawn away from these thoughts when Cas adds a second finger, and this time, he can’t stop the hiss from the sting.

“Oh my god, does it hurt?” Cas shrieks, stopping the movement of his hand. He pats Dean’s stomach and peeks at him from concerned eyes. Dean doesn’t answer right away, he grinds down onto Cas’s finger slowly, allowing himself to familiarize the feeling of being breeched. It takes a moment, but he loosens and opens up, allowing Cas to continue with a breathy, “More.”

Castiel’s fingers return their delicious motion, swirling and unfurling Dean until they easily slide in and out. Just before Cas pulls out, a strange expression crosses his face and he quirks both fingers up, straight into Dean’s prostate. His entire body jerks upwards, all of his nerve endings igniting at once. It takes a minute, but his body relaxes back into the plush mattress, his chest heaving with the effort of breathing.

“More Cas... more,” he gasps out. But Cas’s eyes develop that mischievous glint and he tweaks them up once more, eliciting a load and auspicious moan from Dean’s chest. He can feel himself clenching around those talented, virgin fingers. He can see Cas’s new found knowledge creating a huge grin on his face. 

Castiel plays with Dean’s ass for a short while more, appearing to be enjoying the little groans Dean makes whenever he hits his mark. His hips jump whenever Cas’s fingers draw upwards, he jerks against the headboard whenever Cas pushes in those extra few centimeters. Cas is like a hyperactive kid with a video game; he keeps hitting the power up button without realizing that it only lasts so long.

Of course, this only prompts Cas to want to finger him more and more, seeing the kinds of noises he can be rewarded from Dean. But, as Dean begins to draw upwards yet again, a soundless gasp shaping his mouth into an ‘o’, Cas removes his fingers one by one. 

“Cas!” Dean yells, sliding his ass up Cas’s lap to find something, _anything_ , to fill him again. Cas presses a finger to his lips. He retrieves the small bottle of lube from where it was discarded and forgotten, and squirts some into the palm of his hand. Cas rubs it onto his cock, jerking it a couple of times to relieve some of that build up. Then, he positions himself just outside of Dean’s entrance. 

“You ready?” he asks, voice low and pupils blown. All Dean can do is nod and knot his fingers into the sheets, preparing himself to bear the brunt of Cas’s girth. 

“Nngh,” Dean moans as Cas breaches his opening. He’s better endowed than Dean had thought; two fingers was nothing compared to the fullness of Cas’s cock. Still, though, it feels nice. Cas pushes in extremely slowly, ensuring that Dean’s not hurting as he fully sheathes himself within. It only takes a moment, and Cas is balls deep within him. He squirms slightly, adjusting to the brunt of the intrusion.

“Are you okay?” Cas asks. Dean peers at Cas’s face and sees a mixture of worry and extreme pleasure battling it out for dominance on his expression. Worry wins out as Cas’s eyebrow folds and scrunches in concern for his friend. Dean brings a hand to Cas’s face in a caress.

“Stop worrying about me, moron.” Dean grinds his hips down with as much force as he can manage in the position he’s in, and quickly loses any control he has when he lets out a guttural moan. Cas takes the encouragement and pulls out to the tip, then slams back into Dean with a force that rattles his bones.     

Dean moans and groans as Cas pushes in and draws out, occasionally slamming into that spot that brings him to a crying mess. More and more, they meet each other on thrusts, and Cas is eventually brought to a hot mess alongside Dean. He flips their positions so Dean’s riding him, and grips his hips as he plunders into Dean from a new angle.

“More, Cas. Fucking more,” Dean grunts, swiveling his hips in time to Cas’s thrusts. Cas complies and heaves into Dean with a new reverence. Dean’s close; so close that as he shimmies his hips, he leans down to grind his own leaking member into the bulging muscles of his companion. It takes all of one more thrust on Cas’s part, and Dean’s shooting strips of white, hot come onto Cas’s chest, howling out his orgasm. Cas follows shortly after, grunting as Dean clenches around him and slowing his thrusts.

Dean collapses against Cas’s chest, right into the sticky mess he made there, and heaves out pathetically shallow breaths. Cas doesn’t do anything to shove him off; in fact, he wraps his arms around Dean’s waist as though to hold them together forever. They settle like that into each other until they catch up to their breaths, heartbeats slow into a more relaxed rhythm.

“That was _awesome,_ ” Dean mumbles into Cas’s neck. Cas is drawing swirling patterns on his back with his index finger as he nods his agreement. He draws his hands up to Dean’s hair and pulls it into little tufts, ruffling it into goofy shapes. 

“I think a better choice of words would be _damn awesome_ , Dean.” Cas mumbles, pulling his softened member out of Dean. The emptiness isn’t nice, but at least Cas is holding him- holding him close despite the sticky messes between them. They really need a shower. But, Dean supposes that can wait until later. Until then, he’s perfectly fine with cuddling against the guy he’s loved for the better part of a year.

“Hey, Dean?” Cas asks, his tone perplexed. Dean looks up from where he was beginning to sleep into the now ethereal blue of Cas’s eyes. “Yeah?”

“Did you just want to fuck or are we going steady?” Cas mumbles in an extremely cautious voice. Dean rotates so he’s lying on his side and facing his best friend. 

“I don’t know, man.” He replies. Though, if he were being perfectly frank, he’d love to go steady with Cas, or any of that romantic shit. He looks at his companion’s lips as Cas sets a hand on his hip and replies. 

“I’d like it if we were together,” Cas whispers, his voice barely audible. Dean feels the smile break across his face before he can stop it. 

“Me too, Cas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won't be posting chapters on Thursdays anymore; my chem classes are now on Thursday nights and I just can't manage finishing assignments and writing these stories all in one day. That being said, chapters will be posted on either Friday or Saturday beginning today, October 5th, with Nice Words are for Lonely Angels.


	5. An Angry Secret and A Startling Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean reveals a part of his past to Castiel that he neither wanted to talk about, nor wanted Cas to find out about. Castiel takes it in shock, then in anger. Castiel's family will be visiting the boys' apartment soon. Dean and Castiel further their relationship.

“God-fucking-dammit!” Yells an extremely angry Castiel from the other room. Strong hands thump onto something very fragile, followed by the distinct sound of glass shattering on hardwood flooring.

“What the fuck are you doing over there?” Dean yells right back to his roommate, trying to avoid being in the same general area as him. Cas has been extremely frustrated since he was transferred to graduate level communications. He hates literature and writing classes more than anything; he hates the fact that he’s a good writer more than anything. But what he hates most is that Dean tells him how talented he is whenever he reads any of his assignments.

“Fucking Lehmann published the story in the fucking magazine with my fucking name on it,” Cas growls. He screeches and another projectile is launched in their apartment, followed by another loud crash.

Dean figures it’s about time he go calm his best friend down before he does any real damage. He’s fine with getting punched; it’s not like Cas has never punched him before. They have _both_ been extremely stressed before; Dean understands. He rolls off his bed and walks to the living room finding a relatively alarming scene in front of him.

Cas has stripped down to his boxers and is lying on their counter, a pile of plates set beside him. He’s slowly picking them up one by one and tossing them onto the floor, creating a little ring of broken glass around him. It would be incredibly poetic if it weren’t so goddamned messy.

“Cas, really?” Dean mutters, carefully navigating through the splinter waiting to happen and climbing atop the marble countertop. “You don’t need to break the plates, dude.”

Cas simply shrugs in response, grabbing another plate and letting gravity do it’s job as it shatters into a million tiny fragments in their kitchen. Dean grabs his arm before he can take another from their quickly dwindling pile of plates.

“What’s the problem?” Dean asks, his voice gentle. He lets his hands rest on his friend’s face, drawing little patterns upon his cheekbones. Cas’s eyes flutter shut and he heaves a great sigh, as though the weight of the world has been resting upon those pale, slender shoulders.

“I don’t know what to do, Dean.” Cas scoots himself closer to Dean, so close that his head ends up cradles in Dean’s lap. He doesn’t mind; in fact, he’s extremely open to it. Dean allows himself to palm Cas’s stubbly cheeks, sighing at the return of physical contact for the first time in weeks. Cas hasn’t really adjusted to their upgraded status of roommates/ friends/ boyfriends; it’s been a rather arduous adjustment for Dean, too, admittedly. They can’t even address each other as such without him breaking out into hysterical giggles or Cas going silent and blushing red while he stares at the floor.

“About what?”

“About everything. Dean, I told my parents. Do you think I’m this stressed because of school?” Cas glances up at him from beneath thick, dark lashes. “I’ve never had to come out before. It’s hard. And on top of that, my brother is coming up this weekend.”

“Gabe, Mike, or Luke?” Dean asks, putting as much caution into his tone. He dislikes all of Cas’s siblings, aside from Anna. Gabe, at least, has some semblance of a sense of humor. Luke and Mike are sadistic bastards. Mike once dragged Dean’s ass into his room when he was drunk, and Dean was incredibly lucky Anna had stopped anything from happening. He’d begged Anna not to tell Cas; he didn’t want to alienate his best friend from his family because of his brother’s penchant for being a complete dick.

“Gabe is for sure, but Mike called ahead and said that he might be too,” Cas replies. His shoulders lose their remaining tension when Dean rubs at his temples, trying to get Cas to wind down.

He’s not terribly thrilled with the possibility of Mike coming down to visit; as a matter of fact, he’s damn near terrified. They only have one bedroom in the apartment and it’s likely that Cas would give up his bed for his brothers. Hell, Dean would give up his bed and share with Cas, even Gabe, if it meant that he was distance from the wandering hands of Mike Novak.

“Well, that could be... not terrible,” Dean tries for, but it quickly falls short when the false note reaches his own ears. Cas looks up into Dean’s eyes, the aquamarine sparkling in the dim glow of the overhead lamp.

“Er, what I mean is, Gabe is great!” Dean tries for again, realizing that he alienated Mike and tries for another start. “Family is great. That’s good news that they’re visiting... right?”

Cas squints at him; he’s suspicious. He pushes himself out of Dean’s lap and into sitting position, then swivels around so their face to face. Dean tries to avoid eye contact as best he can; this is not ground he wants to tread on with Cas. But, a sturdy hand beckons his face directly to the person he most wants to talk to, and the person he least wants to talk to.

“Why are you so... jittery?” Cas asks, tilting his head as he frowns. “And not in the good way,” He specifies

“I’m not jittery, I’m just tired.”

“Yeah, right, you fucker. C’mon, what’s the issue?” Cas wraps his hands around Dean’s knees, leaning in close enough that Dean can feel puffs of hot breath against his lips.

“Mike... is not someone I’d like near me when I sleep,” Dean mutters, sliding his eyes to the left and staring with utmost interest at three rotting bananas. “If he’s here, me and you have to share a bed or put a lock on the door.”

Cas pulls away slightly and a confused expression dominates his face. He tilts his head and he asks, “Why would we do that?”

Dean fidgets again, this time unable to stop the little shiver that runs up his spine. He turns away from Cas completely; there is a reason he didn’t want Anna to tell her brother about _that_. It would’ve put a wall between them. And now it’s looking like he doesn’t have much of a choice. So, he squares his shoulders in an attempt to garner any strength lingering in his body, but quickly falters back to the shell he’s built for himself all of those months ago.

“I...uh, your brother is... Um, I don’t know how to,” Dean flounders around for a few moments, shifting on his ass back and forth; Cas just sits there patiently, his face open and inviting and Dean wants nothing more for him to drop the subject and to kiss that attentiveness off his face.

“It’s all right, Dean. I can handle it,” Cas says, attempting to assist Dean, most likely. He also wraps his arms around him in a comfortable embrace; it allows Dean to avoid those stark eyes and instead face the wall next to the towel closet.

“Your brother, Mike, is... he’s a total creep,” Dean says. It’s better than nothing; he wishes he could have Anna’s backing or something as he alerts Cas of old news. He wishes he hadn’t prevented Anna from telling him directly after it had almost happened. He wishes and wishes, but it doesn’t work. So he continues, steeling himself against the sudden wave of bile circulating within his gut.

“He, uh... The last time we went to visit your family over Easter, I got pretty hammered. You remember, you wanted me to take your bed for the night?” He waits until Cas nods to continue. “Yeah, well, Mike came up after me and he, uh, brought me to his room.” He looks up at Cas’s face and sees that anger has taken over his expression. His eyebrows are knitted together and his mouth is set in such a way that he looks about to snarl.

“He, um... Mike stripped me down to my birthday suit and laid me down on his bed. He was pullin’ off his khaki’s when Anna came in, thank god she never knocks, and saw the whole thing. So she punched Mike in the jaw; it was excellent. Then she dressed me up again and pulled me back into your room.”

Castiel appears to be contemplating murder while attempting to wipe the shock off of his face. His hands twitch towards Dean, as though he wants to comfort him, and Dean takes them in his own. Cas’s expression shifts and he opens his mouth to speak.

“Why didn’t you tell me all this?” He asks, his voice barely above a whisper. Dean answers him in an even lower tenor. “Because I thought it was... I thought you wouldn’t believe me or hate me ‘cause you thought I was slanderin’ your brother or somethin’.”

And suddenly Cas’s arms are around him, holding him, patting down his hair, rubbing at the spot between his shoulders. Castiel’s mouth is at his ear whispering a rhythmic ‘I’m sorry, so, so, sorry, Dean.’ Dean lets himself be held; he likes the presence of Cas. It’s like a beckon to him, a comfort welcome anytime and anywhere. Especially now.

“Thanks, Cas.” Dean mumbles into his friend’s shoulder.

“It’s no problem, Dean.”

* * *

* * *

After a few minutes of choked back tears on Dean’s part, even though Castiel had repeatedly assured him that it’s fine to cry after those sorts of things, Castiel pulls away from Dean and leaps off the counter to grab a broom. He sweeps at the broken bits of glass and the colossal mess he has created until order is restored to the room, as far as cleanliness is concerned.

He returns the broom to the corner where he’d retrieved it and heads back to where Dean is sitting with his head in his hands. Castiel tugs on one of his sleeves until he finally allows himself to be brought down by Castiel’s unbetraying hands. When he does, he pulls his hands away from his face and Castiel can see that those beautiful emerald eyes are rimmed by a ring of red from the effort of holding himself back.

“Dean, it’s okay. Really,” Castiel mumbles, running his hands comfortingly along Dean’s shoulders. He can only guess at what’s going through his friend’s head. He’s definitely humiliated; he shouldn’t be as it wasn’t his fault. Again, that murderous rage towards his elder brother spikes in Castiel’s gut. But, he forces his thoughts away from murder to love for his friend.

Dean sniffles slightly and rubs at his eyes, watching Castiel from beneath heavily lidded lashes. “Really?” He asks, wrapping an arm around Castiel’s waist. Castiel stops and turns to Dean with a tiny smile. “Really,” he answers.

He pulls Dean back to their room and waits as he strips to his boxers and pulls on a ratty old t-shirt. Then, he watches as Dean reclines into his bed, scooting over so Castiel has room to get in. Just in case he doesn’t mean as such, Castiel raises his eyebrows in question.

“Just get in, idiot,” Dean mutters, holding open the corner of the sheets. So Castiel follows suit and crawls into Dean’s bed, unfamiliar with this new closeness. Dean folds his arms around Castiel’s body and nudges a leg between Castiels’.

“Dean, I’ve still gotta turn out the lights,” Castiel mumbles, but is silenced with a quick peck from Dean. He releases his hold on Castiel and climbs out of bed, doing it himself. Shortly, he returns and climbs over Castiel’s body, back into his initial spot. He pulls Castiel flush against his body and presses small kisses all over Castiel’s face until his lips find Castiel’s.

It’s slow, calm, and not at all ‘hard and fast’ or whatever. It’s more... loving. And Castiel doesn’t have much experience with love to go off of, but it sure feels like that with Dean. His lips move in respect to Dean’s; forming and molding into whatever shape gives Dean the most comfort at that particular fraction of a second. There is no invasiveness, no chastity, no anything really, except for the two of them locked together within each other’s arms.

After a tiny eternety, Dean pulls away in need for air. They heave and wheeze for a few moments; it’s just togetherness exemplified into some weird, tangible thing. Then, slowly and deliberately, Dean tugs his shirt over his head and tosses it across the room to land atop Castiel’s pillow.

“Are you-” Castiel begins as Dean’s hands move below the covers to yank off his briefs. After a few seconds, those hands land on his hips and tear off his boxers in a haste Castiel wouldn’t have thought Dean capable of a half hour ago.

“Yes, Cas. Only if you’re fine with it,” Dean replies, nosing his face against Castiel’s neck and sucking minutely at intervals known only to Dean. He suckles and bites until his mouth finds Castiel’s again and Castiel welcomes Dean’s presence in his mouth.

His tongue does interesting things when he’s upset; Dean is slower, more passionate when he’s completely lucid. His hands frame Castiel’s face when they kiss, not his hips. When he grinds his hardness against Castiel’s, it’s slower, more drawn out. Castiel likes this part of Dean; no, he _loves_ it. And that fucking scares him. Still, though, he kisses back with all of the passion he can muster, savoring the slide of their lips, the familiar warmth of Dean’s body against his own.

It only takes a few moments for Dean’s thrusts to move with more precision and force. Castiel is bucking up to meet him on the upstrokes, their own pre-come mixing together to make a sort of amateur and impractical lubricant. Castiel is getting closer; it’ll only be so long before Dean does him in. He doesn’t want that; he wants this to be memorable. It’s, well Castiel is going to pretend, that it’s their first time. At least, it’s their first time while completely aware. So, he slows until there is no movement at all, just eye contact and heavy breathing.

“Cas,” Dean whispers, his voice gone hoarse from eliciting tiny moans for the past half hour. He reaches a hand down to cup their erections, not really moving it, more holding it there as a cradle. Castiel just stares at him; he can’t believe how wonderful Dean is. Really, this is a person who could hide so much, just for the sake of another person. It makes Castiel wonder what else Dean isn’t telling him, what other toils he’s concealing.

“Dean,” he mumbles back, bringing a hand to rest on Dean’s slightly stubbled face. He leans into Castiel’s touch, shutting his eyes against any unpleasant thoughts, against the world really, and Castiel does the same. He wraps his arms around his friend and tugs him against his chest; tucking his head below his chin.

“Cas, would it be weird if I told you something that’s true?” Dean asks, his voice wavering slightly as though he’s considering a great decision. Castiel shakes his head in affirmation that it would not be weird and pulls Dean so their eye to eye.

Instead of telling him anything, however, Dean simply leans down and presses his lips against Castel’s in a tingling, soft kiss. Castiel returns it earnestly, moving his lips along Dean in a message he hopes he understands. They’re erections eventually get the better of them again and Castiel ends up grinding against Dean. But it’s okay because it’s mutual. Dean meets his every thrust, returns all of his kisses with fervent eagerness.

Soon enough, they are knocking on the door of orgasm. Beads of Dean’s sweat are falling onto Castiel’s face and his lips are parted as he moans and groans and thrusts and bucks. Castiel is sure he looks similarly, as he’s lost all thought processes that aren’t _Dean, Dean, Dean_. Just as the heat is pooling in his stomach and he’s about to spray his release across his and Dean’s stomach, he swears he hears Dean mumble ‘I love you’.

And then he’s breaking that door down, letting the orgasm consume him as he twitches it out and shivers and bucks wildly. Dean meets him after only five more thrusts, Castiel counted based off of the number of times he came after the initial one, and collapses upon Castiel as soon as he shoots strips of sticky come across his belly.

He’s heaving, collapsing, and won’t meet Castiel’s eyes. Just as his breath returns, Castiel pulls Dean up to return his sentiment, to tell him he loves him too, but Dean rolls over so he faces the wall, running away.

Castiel doesn’t want to push the issue. He doesn’t want Dean to be uncomfortable; loving someone is a lot to handle. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to tell Dean that he _does_ love him. Truly and with as much of his heart as he can honestly say, which is a hell of a lot.

He decides not to force Dean to acknowledge him. Castiel wraps himself around Dean’s back in a horribly romantic cuddle, though he can’t bring himself to dislike it. And neither can Dean, going off of the satisfied sigh that comes from his chest. Slowly, he feels Dean fall asleep; his breath turns more rhythmic and his body relaxes completely into Castiel’s. He’s not far behind Dean; he can feel his eyelids flutter shut at the final image of Dean, his face as he uttered those three words that he can never take back, no matter how much he wishes to. Castiel falls asleep happily.

* * *

* * *

Sunlight filters in throw the blinds that Dean neglected to close before he and Cas decided to fuck in his bed. Well, it wasn’t fucking so much as passionate frotting, but he digresses. He feels oddly sticky, his chest coated in strings of dried semen. He needs a shower.

He’s also warm. Cas is tucked around his body like a protective cocoon; his breath blowing against the short hairs at the nape of Dean’s neck. Dean rotates carefully, not wanting to rouse his companion, but quickly realizing he’s failing when Cas stirs and mumbles a sweet ‘Dean’.

Dean can’t stop the smile from spreading across his face; he doesn’t even try. He’s thrilled that Cas dreams about him with such a contented expression on his face. He’s still smiling when he leans down to brush his lips along Cas’s, relishing in the chapped roughness of them.

Cas’s eyes flutter open drowsily and he groans slightly at something. Dean presses his lips fully onto Cas’s, kissing him with as much compassion as Winchester men are capable of. “Mornin’ Cas.”

“Good morning, Dean.” Cas smiles big and bright, shifting so he doesn’t punch Dean in the face when he stretches. When he’s good and limber, he looks down at himself and grimaces. “What?” Dean asks.

“Are you up for a shower?” Cas asks in response.

Dean nods, allowing Cas to stand before he does and lends a hand in Dean’s direction. Dean accepts it, of course, and holds it as they walk to the puny bathroom they have to share. Though, Dean is starting to mind that less and less given his growing affinity to Cas’s physical presence. And his emotional presence, but he’d never admit that to Cas or anyone really.

Cas grabs a couple of towels for the both of them and heads into the room. Dean stays out for a bit; it all feels too invasive: showering with Cas, sharing a bed with Cas, hell, _talking_ to Cas about what he’s never really talked with anyone about. It, their relationship, is beginning to tread new waters. And Dean doesn’t necessarily mind; he’s just unequipped emotionally and intellectually to know what to do.

Cas strides out of the bathroom, buck ass nude, and gestures that the shower is ready. Dean hesitates by the door; he really doesn’t want to risk anything with Cas. He told the guy he fucking _loves_ him last night, there has to be some tension between the two of them at the moment. Cas just tilts his head in confusion at all of Dean’s deliberations and internalized debates.

“What’s the matter?” He asks, his gravelly voice even more wrecked after a night of slow sex.

“Nothin’,” Dean replies, though the lie is extremely evident. Cas’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline in question at the lie and he leans against the doorframe, seemingly unaware of what all of that exposed skin does to Dean.

“Uh, what I mean is that, well, did you hear what I told you last night?” Dean asks, probably looking like a wild man. Cas’s brows knit together in confusion. “You said a lot of things last night, Dean.”

He’s a dense fucker, Dean will give Cas that much. “Regarding how I... _feel_ about you, Cas.” He waits until Cas understands, his eyes widening with the realization of Dean’s meaning.

“Oh, that you said you love me?” Cas asks openly and unafraid. A dopey smile makes its home on Cas’s face and, if Dean hadn’t practiced steeling himself against Cas’s emotions months ago, Dean would’ve melted right there. Yeah, Cas remembers. And it’s fucking fantastic.

“Yeah, that. Is it... mutual?” Dean asks, his voice trembling slightly as his tone lightens an octave. Damn, it’s like he’s thirteen again; he hasn’t been this timid since Lisa.

“Are you asking if I love you too?” Castiel replies a moment later, his voice quiet and heavy. His eyes are pinned on Dean’s collarbone and he won’t look up no matter how much Dean tries to meet his eyes. “Yeah, dumbass, that’s exactly what I’m asking.”

Cas brings a hand to rest on his chin and he thinks for a moment. Dean thinks it’s all an act; he saw the smile that Cas put on for him before he lifted his hand. He _saw_ his eyes crinkle in undiluted happiness at Dean’s admission. He knows Cas loves him back. It doesn’t change the fact that it would be nice to hear Cas make confirm it with his own voice.

His friend removes the hand from his lips and grins at Dean like he’s his whole world and that nothing else really matters. Cas walks over to where Dean is stuck to the floor and lifts those warm palms to Dean’s cheeks. They spend a moment staring into each other eyes like a pair of romantic saps in a chick flick, but Dean can’t bring himself to mind.

It only takes a second, and a fleeting brush of Cas’s lips, for him to respond. When he does, the smile that forms on Dean’s face of its own volition is so wide his eyes turn to slits.

“I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got a bit emotional for me because of reasons. Sorry if it [events within this chapter] seemed spontaneous, but this story is somewhat based off of stuff that happened to a good friend of mine last summer. Also sorry if it brings up something bad; it did for me when I wrote it. I just think it's a prominent issue during university that many people don't realize. This is getting a little ranty so... Kirk out.


	6. Nice Nights and the Physical Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean asks Castiel if he'd like to go with him to the Winchester house.

“Fuck,” Castiel whimpers, a hand fisted in Dean’s hair as his tongue does amazing things to the slit at the head of Castiel’s dick. They’ve been trying to be subtle; after Physics Dean had dragged Castiel into the church and pulled him into a rather dark corner. Castiel had been moderately confused until Dean had gotten down to his knees and began unbuttoning his jeans. “Let’s just, guh, go back to the... apartment.”

Dean pulls his mouth away with a little _pop_ and turns his eyes onto Castiel, shining green even in the dark. He brings a sleeve to his mouth and wipes off the little dribble of drool making its way to his chin. “What about classes?” Dean asks, smirking even as he says so. He knows Castiel only has Journalism, and Castiel knows Dean only has his TA duties. So he heaves himself up and brings his hands back to Castiel’s crotch. At first, Castiel squirms; he doesn’t want to come in church, he does have _some_ morals. But, still smirking, Dean only tucks him back in and zips him up. “Sure, let’s go.”

And so they go. They walk out of the church hand in hand like the dorky couple they are and beeline it for the Impala. Luckily, Dean had morning classes in the biology building so it’s not too far, and they arrive at the apartment shortly. Though, that’s not to say Castiel didn’t palm his hand against Dean’s half-mast cock on the way, or that Dean didn’t almost crash into a tree when he did so. That would be ridiculous.

Dean pulls the Impala up to the curb within five minutes. Castiel basically sprints out of the car; his eagerness propelling him forward like a bat out of hell. He races to the door, stopping when he realizes Dean isn’t behind him. Instead, he’s leaning against the driver’s side door on the phone with an extremely puzzled expression splayed across his features. Dean says a few more things to whoever’s on the other line and tucks his phone into his jeans before trotting up to Castiel.

Castiel tilts his head in question; understanding flashes in Dean’s eyes at the unspoken question. “It was Sammy,” he mutters. Castiel brings his hands to Dean’s shoulders and leans himself into his body.

“Did he need anything?” Castiel asks, keeping his tone neutral as he allows one of his hands to wisp down Dean’s back to rest at the top of his ass. Dean doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t really reflect the movement either, so Castiel pulls away. When he looks at Dean’s face, he sees perplexion.

“Dean, what is it?” Castiel asks, this time his voice is more urgent. Dean is never passive about anything, let alone perplexed. Sam might be in trouble or something. The worry melts off of Dean’s face when he finds it blooming on Castiel’s.

“It’s nothing, Cas.” Dean runs his hands down each of Castiel’s shoulders and to his wrists. “I just told Sammy about... whatever the hell this is, and he said, and I quote, ‘it’s about damn time, moron.’” Dean grins at Castiel and leans down to brush his lips against Castiel’s; it’s a soft, gently movement. He nuzzles into the hollow behind Castiel’s collarbone and wraps an arm around his waist. “Let’s go to bed.”

And so they do. Dean pulls his set of keys out of his pocket and unlocks the door, all the while keeping a hand on Castiel’s ass and grinning like some dopey old sap. Though, when Castiel looks at Dean directly, he _does_ see the worry in his eyes, pulling little crinkles into their corners. He wraps a hand around Dean’s and tugs him into their little apartment, urging him in the direction of their shared bedroom.

Since they had gone ‘official’ or whatever, Castiel and Dean had forthwith went bed shopping. They’d agreed upon a large waterbed, mostly because it was Dean’s dream to have one since he was a kid, and because Castiel was running low on money and it cost less than two hundred dollars. Anyways, Castiel leans back on the bed and lets Dean fall atop him. Well, not fall so much as prop himself over him and stare.

“What?” Castiel asks. He has learned after being Dean’s friend for so long that staring is either evidence of creeping or that he has done something strange with his face. He doesn’t believe it’s the latter, so he tilts his head in question at his boyfriend. Dean winks at him and leans his forehead against Castiel’s.

“You’re really, uh, nice looking y’know,” Dean mumbles, his voice curt and sweet. Castiel grins and draws his hands from Dean’s sides to the back of his neck to pull him in for a kiss. Dean’s lips have this really nice taste to them; it’s almost like cherry pie, but Castiel wouldn’t go as far as that. It’s more like... fireworks. Or summertime, or even the untamed and lovely chaos of the woods, if Castiel was feeling particularly Thoreau-esque. Dean is just, well, he’s just so _Dean._

Castiel pulls away with a smirk; he enjoys when Dean gets so wrapped up in what they’re doing that he just follows. It would be incredibly endearing if it didn’t immediately give Castiel a hard on. “I’m pretty, huh? Wise words for a kid who spends his time making fancy machines,” Castiel purrs against Dean’s cheek. He really needs to shave; though it’s attractive, it’s beginning to be painfully scratchy.

“Yeah, you’re hot. Sue me,” Dean smiles against his forehead and pulls down to press his lips once against to Castiel’s in a deep, oddly compassionate kiss. Castiel is just starting to think that they’re just going to pass out in each other’s arms when Dean’s erection brushes against his hip bone.

“A little eager there aren’t we, big boy?” Castiel says, biting back a happy little smile. He shifts so their noses are pressed tip to tip and brings his mouth as close as he can to Dean’s without actually touching it. “And what do you propose we do, Mr. Winchester?” He nips at Dean’s lips as seductively as he can muster; eliciting little moans as he circles his hips beneath Dean because he knows he likes it.

Evidently, it doesn’t take much more than changing his tone slightly to convince Dean to go full on Marilyn with him. He’s upright and peeling his shirt off before Castiel can finish forming his sentence, already prepared for the sex he’s been so ‘patient’ for. “Wow, you were actually in a hurry.”

“I propose you hurry the fuck up and get inside me, Mr. Novak,” Dean mutters as he slips out of his jeans. He climbs back on top of Castiel and begins unbuttoning his shirt, quickly and with little finesse. All the while, he presses hasty kisses all over his face, not really bothering to make his mark land on Castiel’s lips. It only takes a moment for Castiel to pull away, worried at his friend’s oddly rash behavior. Dean stares at him silently, though his hands do stop shoving the fabric away from his chest.

“What’s wrong?” Castiel asks, examining Dean’s face for any signs of duress. When he can’t spot any aside from the casual way with which Dean avoids his gaze, he pulls their faces close together. “Seriously, Dean. And don’t give me any of your bullshit.”

Dean fidgets uncomfortably on top of him. He places his hands against Castiel’s chest gently and holds himself there, just... contemplating. After a moment, he heaves a breath and answers Castiel. “I’m, uh,- I’m going up to my parent’s place tonight. Do you want to come with?” Dean asks, chewing on his lip after the words finally spill from his mouth.

“Sure,” Castiel replies. He still doesn’t understand why Dean is so nervous; he’s been over to the Winchester house plenty of times. Dean’s acting too strange for it to just be a visit. Oh. Maybe it’s not _just_ a visit but an ‘I’m going to introduce you to my boyfriend’ visit. That would explain why Dean’s uncharacteristically shaken. “We don’t have to go, if you’re just going to spill the news to them.”

Dean shakes his head before Castiel even finishes his words. “Dad’s going to find out sooner or later. And I don’t want to deal with the shit storm if he finds out from someone else. So, you’re comin’ with me so he can’t yell,” Dean mumbles, the sly smirk hitting his eyes as he speaks. He rubs his hands back up to Castiel’s shoulders and shoves at the fabric that had bunched around his armpits. Castiel shifts so it’s easier to remove and Dean gingerly slides the sleeves off his arms.

“I’ll go, but I’m running if your dad starts blurting that crap about ‘the gay takeover’ and such or I’ll punch him,” Castiel murmurs to Dean as he shifts his hips so he can pull of his pants. Dean scoots over so he’s not straddling Castiel, probably to give him some room, and lays down onto the bed beside him. “Don’t worry, Cas. I’ll do it for you if it comes to that,” Dean replies gruffly. Castiel feels a warm palm rest upon his thigh and twitch, he turns to Dean.

The man is almost spastic. Sure, his words held conviction; Dean isn’t a liar, at least not to his friends. But his entire being is protesting at the prospect of not fulfilling his father’s whims. Castiel is aware that Dean knows his father is a complete and total sack of dicks with father issues of his own, nut it doesn’t stop him from being a little soldier son.

He climbs onto his boyfriend and splays himself above him. “Hey, it’s all going to work out, yeah?” Castiel leans down and captures Dean’s downturned lips in his own. It takes a moment, but Dean _does_ return the kiss in earnest. He lets Castiel’s tongue trail over his lower lip and meets it with his own, melding their mouths together in a warm and sloppy smooch.

Dean’s arms wind around Castiel’s body and pull their chests flush against each other, brushing in a heated daze. He can feel Dean’s hardness, hot and solid, right next to his, but neither of them does anything about it. They just _breathe._ Breathe in each other, breathe in their circumstances, breathe out their worries and lay like a couple of children on a beach. Well, kissing children that are actually grown men and very much in love with each other.

Castiel is the first to make any real move; he lets himself slide away from Dean’s mouth, leaving a trail of light pecks down his torso, and comes to a rest with his chin rested along the light dusting of curly brown hair at the base of Dean’s cock. He looks up to his boyfriend from where he rests, confirming whether or not Dean is actually up for anything. He gives a quick nod and reclines his head back onto the pillow, lower lip gnashed under his teeth.

“Don’t feel bad about something you can’t control,” Castiel murmurs before kissing a line to the head of Dean’s dick. He doesn’t say anymore because he wraps his lips around Dean’s cock and bobs and bobs like he does. It doesn’t take Dean long to jerk beneath him, shivering from the arousal coursing through his veins. Castiel pulls himself off when he looks like he can’t handle anymore.

“Do you want to-,” Castiel begins to mumble, before Dean’s intercedes with a nod. He smiles and removes himself from the bed altogether, leaving their bedroom to go find condoms, if they have any. He searches out the bathroom, scanning each and every cupboard with little success. Then, he runs to the kitchen, because, well, they’ve fucked in stranger places. When that proves to be equally fruitless, Castiel returns to their bedroom and paws through all of his and Dean’s drawers, only to be disappointed.

“What is it?” Dean asks from the bed, his body set against the cheap wooden headboard of their bed. Castiel glances over his shoulder with a frown. “We’re out of condoms,” he mutters in reply. He climbs back into their swishy bed and lays his head against Dean’s chest.

Dean runs a hand through his hair and down the side of his face to rest on his cheek. His fingers swirl comforting patterns into the side of his face, easing Castiel while building anxiety in his gut.

He’s just pulling away from his boyfriend’s chest when Dean looks at the ceiling with a mild blush and mumbles, “I don’t mind if you don’t.”

Castiel freezes with his hands poised on either side of Dean’s head. Dean didn’t really suggest that they...? Did he? Castiel snakes his eyes back up to Dean’s from where they slid to his chin, begging for confirmation that he knows Dean is too emotionally constipated to voice.

Dean’s eyes finally wander back to Castiel’s and the green is nearly overtaken by the black of his dilapidated pupils. There is definitely desire burning low in those beautiful gold-flecked emeralds, but... something else there too. Something Dean would never admit out loud but through action and privilege: love.

Castiel merely observes as Dean’s arms wind their way around either side of his head, meeting in the middle in a loop around his neck. Slowly, gradually, deliberately, Castiel is tugged against Dean’s chest, enveloped by his arms in a warm hug. Sharp stubble grazes along his own when their cheeks brush and both men wince at the sting of it.

“You’ve gotta shave, dude,” Dean murmurs into Castiel’s hair, hands sliding from Castiel’s neck down his back in an agonizingly slow trail. He smirks and replies, “I could say the same about you, Winchester.”

And then, Dean stops talking. He stops asking him questions or teasing him, well, flirting with him. Instead, he just shifts so Castiel resides in the swoop made by his body, the rigid hardness of his cock still definitely there, though it’s controlled, as Dean always does.

“We could, y’know. If you are okay with it,” Castiel whispers, knowing full well that Dean would understand. And does. Almost immediately, Castiel’s back is greeted by cool air as Dean gives him some room to turn, eyes wary with tension and uncertainty.

“You sure?” Dean asks. “I’m, uh, clean or whatever. So, um, sure.”

Castiel slides across their cheap linens, stopping when he’s just an inch from his boyfriend. He shuts his eyes as he leans in, searching out Dean’s lips by intuition alone, and hope that Dean will meet him halfway. One way or another, Castiel’s efforts are met fervently, with Dean nudging his tongue into his mouth as they grope for each other under the sheets.

Strong arms maneuver Castiel onto Dean’s chest, again, and sweat sleek hands travel to his lower back, gently pushing their groins together as their lips wave and unravel together. Castiel lets himself glide and slip along Dean’s body, moving in tandem with the tiny thrusts emitted from beneath him.

After a few minutes, however, Castiel just wants _more_. He nudges a knee between Dean’s legs and slides the apart as slowly as he can manage as to not startle his best friend. Dean doesn’t seem to mind, despite the relative lack of communication over who would bottom for their first time bare.

He was correct in his assumption that Dean didn’t mind; as a matter of fact, it’s quite the opposite. Dean grinds down onto Castiel, searching for friction along his dick and against his hole. So Castiel shifts downward and obliges him.

Castiel has extremely limited knowledge in terms of rimming and, well, oral sex. Yeah, he can manage a blow job, but the mechanics of it are extremely simple in comparison to loosening someone’s hole with his tongue. Nonetheless, he grabs a pillow from the top of the bed and tucks it below Dean’s ass. Then, as boldly as he can manage, he grips Dean’s knees and leans to press his lips against the sensitive, puckered skin.

It was something Castiel was supposed to do, evidently, as Dean reacts almost violently. His hips buck into the air, searching for some non-existent friction. Castiel smiles slightly as he ducks back in, this time poking out his tongue, teasing the clenched hole as he gently swirls it within Dean. Again, his results are fruitful; the only difference this time is that Dean grinds down onto Castiel’s mouth, smothering him temporarily as he briefly forgets his hold on Dean’s legs.

He regains his hold and continues swirling and thrusting into Dean’s hole, completely unashamed by the obscene, wet noises he’s making. Dean is long past the realm of total lucidity; his body quaking with the effort of not shoving past Castiel’s hold on him and grinding down upon his mouth altogether.

When harmless quakes turn to goose bumps along Dean’s skin turn to shivering and panting, Castiel pulls out, quickly replacing the absence of his mouth with three fingers. He draws them up slowly and thoroughly, taking his time to coat himself in lube before actually entering his boyfriend.

It doesn’t take too long; by the time Castiel is positioning himself behind Dean, he’s twitching with anticipation, his cock drawn erect against his stomach. Castiel wraps his arms around Dean’s sides and tugs himself flush against Dean’s back, reading through the constellation of freckles splashed over Dean’s shoulders as he gradually draws out and slides back in with equal longevity.

And yeah, he supposes he probably whimpers. He probably begs, he probably shivers and moans. At least, he thinks he reflects Dean’s little ticks in earnest, shaking when he shakes, breathing when Dean does and, almost last but not least, tensing up for the great release as Dean does.

They fall. Not in the sense of the gravitational (though some of that does occur), but the moment Dean’s name falls upon Castiel’s lips alongside hearing his own name off of Dean’s he knows they fell. In the most cheesy and overused sense of the word. Before either of them actually come, Castiel uses his leverage on Dean to turn him over, positioning them face to face so he can see the man as he crashes.

Oh, and how it was worth it. Just as Castiel draws out, one painstaking final time, Dean’s lips part in that way they do and his eyelids flutter ever so slightly. His nails dig into the skin at Castiel’s shoulders while he pulls him down to meet his mid-orgasm lips, attempting for a kiss but turning it into sloppy shared breath. Castiel doesn’t mind the proximity and warmth of it, mostly because he can feel the heat pool in his gut right before it actually spills.

White stripes burst forth from Dean’s achingly stiff cock, painting them both in an impressionistic like painting from chest to the little hairs at the bases of their stomachs. It’s warm, it’s nice. And then Castiel is spilling over the edge, doing exactly as he thought he would be the only one to do, and he fills Dean. He can _feel_ his own fluid leaking into Dean, feel it squish against his cock-head. Castiel doesn’t like the texture of it very much; well, it’s not so much that it’s displeasing, but rather it’s uncomfortably sticky.

He waits until the pair of them regains their breath to actually pull himself out of Dean. He collapses on his side beside his boyfriend, the water bed jiggling beneath his now direct weight. Dean turns toward him and tosses an arm over his waist, drawing him in close to his now sticky and relatively itchy chest, pressing soft kisses along his nose.

“We should probably shower later,” Dean mumbles against Castiel’s face.

“Yeah, that would probably be ideal.” But instead of following through with his words, he pulls himself tighter against Dean, shoving a leg between Dean’s slightly bowed ones, leaning his head against Dean’s muscular chest. Warm and motionless fingertips press into Castiel’s back, holding him in an almost praise like fashion. So, Castiel takes it as such.

He snuggles up against Dean, not even caring that what they are doing is well beyond the line of cuddling and sharing a bed. He drifts off in those sturdy arms, not really falling asleep so much as taking in Dean. He supposes he’s done this before, that is to say he’s taken in Dean before, and he’s enjoyed it. But never so much as he does at this very moment, completely carefree and blissed out by Dean’s physical admittance to a thing he’d doubted Dean was even _capable_ of feeling.

They do eventually fall asleep, sans shower, but it’s all in mutual expression of absolute laziness. Dean draws the blankets around either of their forms and tucks Castiel’s head against his neck, pressing a soft kiss into Castiel’s hair.

“We should move furniture more often,” Dean whispers just before his eyelids flutter shut.

Castiel giggles minutely just before he joins Dean in slumber. He could enjoy knocking around furniture with Dean, hell; he could enjoy it forever if Dean didn’t mind.

He lets himself drift off, eyelids mimicking Dean’s as he slides further and further into Dean’s chest, pillowing himself atop the sturdier man. And he dreams of sunny skies and green eyes, of futures that have been and pasts to come. Castiel dreams of love. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to write a lot of porn, so I did. The next chapter will include more story content. *spoilers* They are definitely going to Sam and John's house.


End file.
